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Library  building. 


QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 


A    NOVEL. 


BY 


CHEISTIAN    EEID, 

ATJTHOB   OF 
"A  DATJGHTEB  OF   BOHE-MIA,"    "  VALEEIE   ATLMEK,"    "MOETON    nOL'SE,"   ETC.,  ETC. 


A 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON   AND   COMPANY^ 

549    AND   551    BROADWAY. 

1876. 


ExTEEED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S75,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


OONTEISTTS. 


BOOK    I, 


IN    WHICH   THE    THREADS    ARE    JOINED    TOGETHER, 
CHAPTER 

I.  A  Fight  with  Fortune, 
II.  Two  Faces,  . 

III.  Basil's  Yexation, 

IV.  Unconditional  Surrender, 
y.  "  The  Claimant," 

VI.  Mary  Carlisle, 
Vn.  Mr.  Devereux's  Interview,    . 
VIII.  A  Visit  of  Congratulation, 

IX.  Rosalind  takes  a  Walk, 
X.  Roses  and  Thorns, 

XI..  Mr.  Devereux  enters  Society, 


PAGB 

1 
11 

22 
31 
39 
50 
65 
'79 
90 
102 
115 


BOOK  II. 


IN    WHICH   THE   SHUTTLE    IS   THROWN. 


I.  By  the  Wayside, 
n.  Theatricals — and  other  Matters, 

III.  At  the  Lodge, 

IV.  "  On  Pleasure  bent," 

^     V.  The  Result  of  Pleasure, 
iQ   VI.  Madeleine  returns  to  Stansbury, 
^  VII.  "  La  Belle  Odalisque," 
!y*N'III.  A  Mode  of  Compromise, 


Vi 


IX.  The  Eve  of  Battle, 


127 
139 
152 
167 
178 
185 
lOV 
208 
219 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK    III. 

WARP     AND     WOOV. 
CHAPTER 

I.  Basil's  Mind  is  relieved, 

II.  Defeat  on  the  Eve  of  Victory, 

III.  The  End  of  the  Suit, 

IV.  Mary's  Answer, 

V.  Behind  the  Scenes, 
VI.  Rosalind  makes  a  Request, 
VII.  "Try  not  to  think  the  Worst  of  Me," 
VIII.  Mr.  Devereux  explains  Himself,  . 


PAGB 

227 
239 

250 
257 
265 
270 
280 
297 


BOOK  IV 


IN    WHICH    THE    WEB    IS    CUT 


I  "  For  Better,  for  Worse,"   . 

II  "  Thy  Face  across  his  Fancy  comes," 

III.  Mrs.  Ingram  utters  a  Warning, 

IV  "A  Sound  of  Revelry," 

V  "  Evil  is  wrought  by  Want  of  Thought," 

VI  "  When  the  Lamp  is  shattered," 

VII  The  Last  of  Earth, 


311 
321 
331 
339 
351 
300 
369 


BOOK  V. 


TANGLED     THREADS. 


I  An  Unexpected  Inheritance, 

11  The  Message  of  the  Dead,  . 

III  The  Beginning  of  the  End, 

IV  The  Cost  of  Sacrifice, 

V  "  Some  there  be  that  Shadows  kiss," 

VI  The  Last  Appeal, 

VII  Devereux  tells  his  Story, 

VIII  Madeleine's  Answer, 


376 
387 
395 
409 
418 
425 
436 
448 


BOOK  VI. 

IN  WHICH  SOME  THREADS  ARE  SMOOTHED. 


I  "  0  Last  Regret,  Regret  can  die ! " 

II.  Devereux  is  recalled, 

ni.  A  Lost  Ideal, 

rv  Among  the  Roses, 


456 
466 
475 
483 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 


BOOK    I. 

m  WHICH  THE  THREADS  ARE  JOINED    TOGETHER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   FIGHT   WITH   FORTUNE. 

The  elms  look  like  burnislied  gold  in  the  dreamy  October 
sunliglit,  as  their  arching  boughs  meet  over  the  quiet  street  in 
the  town  of  Stansburv,  on  which  stands  the  house  that  for  sev- 
eral  generations  has  been  the  home  of  the  Severns.  It  is  a  solid, 
stately,  old-fashioned  house,  set  in  the  midst  of  a  grove  of  oaks, 
the  youngest  of  which  cannot  possibly  "  circle  in  the  grain  "  less 
than  seventy  years.  In  the  depths  of  these  oaks  a  red  glory 
seems  to  be  kindled  as  the  sinking  sun  sends  his  level  rays  among 
their  boughs,  giving  an  effect  beyond  description  to  the  heavily- 
massed  foliage.  A  feast  of  color  meets  the  eye,  turn  where  one 
will.  Every  tint  of  russet  and  bronze,  of  scarlet  and  gold  and 
purple,  is  to  be  seen,  mingled  as  only  Nature,  chiefest  and  most 
daring  of  artists,  knows  how  to  mingle  her  colors.  In  the  morn- 
ing the  trees  seem  hung  with  jewels,  the  air  sparkles,  the  sun- 
shine streams  like  molten  gold,  the  soft  blue  haze  hangs  ove." 
every  thing  like  a  glamour  of  enchantment.  But  the  afternoon 
which  is  more  mellow,  is  also  less  joyous.  As  the  elms  throve 
their  long  shadows  across  the  street,  as  the  great  oaks  begin  tc 
wear  their  crowns  of  fire,  as  the  crimson  evening  light  streams 


2  A   QUESTION   OF  IIONCR. 

on  the  moss-grown  palings  and  tall  cedar-hedge  of  the  Severn 
place — lighting  up,  as  if  with  an  illumination,  the  windows  of  the 
house — the  subtile  sadness  which  dwells  in  all  autumnal  beauty 
deepens  almost  to  a  sense  of  pain. 

There  is  something  in  the  place  itself  which  is  suggestive  of 
melancholy,  some  people  think  ;  though  there  are  others  who 
like  nothino:  better  than  these  old  houses  which  are  full  of  the 
dignity  of  age.  The  Severn  house  is  one  of  them.  It  is  of  brick, 
substantially  built  after  the  manner  of  a  past  generation,  though 
there  is  nothing  inconveniently  ancient  about  it,  owing  to  its 
having  been  remodeled  once  or  twice  according  to  modern  ideas 
of  comfort.  Its  dark  tone  gives  it  a  somewhat  sombre  look,  as 
it  stands  among  the  large  brown  trunks  and  green,  overhanging 
boughs  of  its  noble  oaks,  but  this  aspect  pleases  the  eye  which 
is  able  to  appreciate  the  exquisite  repose  that  dwells  in  subdued 
coloring.  There  is  a  stone-flagged  portico  in  front,  and  many 
quaint,  pleasant  nooks  both  within  and  without,  while  a  growth 
of  English  ivy  spreads  like  a  green  wall  over  its  western  side, 
climbing  to  the  very  attic-window,  and  almost  closing  up  one  or 
two  of  the  chamber-casements.  The  grounds  surrounding  the 
house  are  very  spacious.  On  one  side  is  a  stretch  of  close-shorn 
turf,  over  which  a  few  beautiful  evergreens  are  set,  while  on 
the  other  a  hedge  divides  the  lawn  from  one  of  the  most  attrac- 
tive of  old-fashioned  gardens,  where  cedar  and  box,  roses  and 
mignonette  flourish,  and  there  is  always  fragrance  and  repose. 
Strangers  are  invariably  struck  by  the  air  of  space  and  comfort 
which  pervades  every  thing.  "  How  much  room  3'ou  have  !  " 
'they  say.  Of  late  years  Basil  Severn  has  begun  to  find  that 
there  is  almost  too  much  room  for  a  poor  man  ;  the  Severns,  as 
a  family,  being  among  the  number  of  those  who,  at  the  close  of 
the  war,  found  it  necessary  to  take  that  downward  step  in  the 
scale  of  fortune  which  is  agreeable  to  none  of  us. 

Root  and  branch  they  have  always  been  *'  good  people,"  these 
Severns — by  which  it  is  not  meant  to  be  implied  that  they  have 
ever  been  particularly  remarkable  for  piety,  but  that  they  have 
held  an  assured  financial  and   social  position   in  their   native 


A  FIGHT  WITH   FOrvTUXE.  3 

place,  that  they  come  of  good  blood,  that  they  have  possessed 
good-breedhig,  and  that  it  has  nev^er  been  possible  to  question 
their  integrity.  With  regard  to  the  last  point,  in  especial,  they 
have  always  held  their  heads  very  high.  No  one  could  say 
that  they  had  ever  wronged  others  in  little  or  great,  no  fraudu- 
lent transaction  was  ever  laid  to  their  charge,  no  creditor  ever 
repented  having  trusted  them,  no  security  ever  paid  their  debts. 
They  were  none  of  them — even  in  the  palmy  days  of  their  pros- 
perity— very  rich  men,  but  they  were  all  of  them,  at  all  times 
and  under  all  circumstances,  unfailingly  honest  men. 

Better  than  gold  or  silver  is  the  inheritance  of  such  a  name ; 
yet,  goodly  as  the  tree  was,  it  did  not  bear  an  exceeding  amount 
of  fruit — and  of  that  fruit  not  a  little  perished  in  the  blossom- 
ing. This  happened  so  often,  that  people  in  general  spoke  of 
the  Severns  as  being  "  not  a  long-lived  family; "  and  when  Fran- 
cis Severn  girded  on  his  sword  and  went  to  the  war,  taking  his 
two  young  sons  with  him,  the  men  who  staid  comfortably  be- 
hind shook  their  heads  in  foreboding  prophecy.  "  He  wdll 
never  come  back,"  they  said.  "  There  seems  a  bad  luck  about 
these  Severns.  None  of  them  ever  get  beyond  middle  age  ;  and 
they  are  the  last  people  in  the  world  to  come  safely  out  of  the 
army,  for  they  are  all  so  remarkably  hot-headed  and  rash."  The 
value  and  accuracy  of  amateur  prophecy  may  as  a  general  rule 
be  rated  at  a  cipher,  but  this  was  an  instance  in  which  events 
verified  all  that  was  predicted.  Too  soon  for  the  cause  he  loved, 
and  for  his  own  fame,  came  the  bullet  which  ended  Francis  Sev- 
ern's life ;  yet  not  too  soon  for  it  to  be  written  of  him  that  he 
had  done  good  service  to  his  country,  and  that  when,  at  the 
close  of  a  hard-fought  day,  he  was  found  with  a  placid  smile  on 
his  pale  face,  in  the  front  ranks  of  the  slain,  dead  on  the  field  of 
honor,  no  man  durst  say  that  his  death  had  been  less  stainless 
than  his  life,  or  that  a  braver  soldier  ever 

"  Surrendered  his  fair  soul  unto  his  captain — Christ." 

A  year  later,  his  youngest  son — a  boy  with  the  face  of  a  girl, 
and  the  soft  brown  Severn  eyes — fell  in  a  cavalry-skirmish  ;  and 


4  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

so,  ia  the  silence  and  sadness  of  that  terrible  spring  of  Sixty- 
five,  it  was  Basil,  the  eldest  son,  who  alone  returned  to  the 
home  from  which  the  proud  father  and  his  gallant  boys  had 
passed  with  the  May  roses  four  long  years  before. 

Sitting  there  in  the  shadow  of  grief — as  women  liav^e  no 
choice  but  to  sit — he  found  his  step-mother,  his  sister  Madeleine, 
and  his  half-sister  Rosalind.  The  two  latter  had  been  children 
when  the  whirlwind  of  war  first  broke  over  the  land.  They 
came  to  meet  him  now,  tall  women  in  their  close  mourninof 
garb.  His  furloughs  had  been  short  and  far  between — for  Ba- 
sil was  too  good  a  soldier  to  ask  for  many — and  so  he  felt  be- 
wildered as  he  looked  around.  "Was  that  pale  woman,  in  her 
widow's  cap,  his  father's  beautiful  second  wife,  whom  the  Stans- 
bury  people  in  a  body  had  admired,  envied,  and  copied  five 
years  before,  who  had  led  whatever  fashion  there  was  in  Stans- 
bury  to  lead,  and  had  made  the  house  so  gay  and  attractive 
when  the  boys  came  home  from  college  to  flirt  and  dance  ?  TVas 
that  stately  young  lady,  wdth  the  sweet  smile  and  the  soft  eyes 
— eyes  like  those  of  the  young  soldier  who  was  dead — the  Made- 
leine whom  he  had  left  an  unformed  school-girl  ?  And — crown- 
ing miracle  of  transformations — w^as  this  Hebe,  whose  bloom 
startled  him  like  a  burst  of  sunshine  when  she  entered  the  room, 
the  little  Rosalind  who  had  been  his  plaything  in  the  old  time? 
It  was  with  something  of  a  pang  that  the  realization  of  these 
changes  came  to  the  young  man.  They  seemed  to  imply  so 
much.  The}^  seemed  to  mark  almost  as  clearly  as  the  officer's 
sword  hanging  beneath  his  father's  portrait,  and  crossed  with 
poor  Frank's  cavalry-sabre,  the  great  gulf  which  yawned  be- 
tween the  life  which  had  been  and  the  life  which  was. 

But  he  soon  found  that  many  other  changes  had  been 
wrought,  more  vital  than  these.  Times  had  changed,  and  men 
had  changed  with  them.  Political  anarchy  engendered  social 
anarchy,  and  demoralization  swept  like  an  epidemic  over  the 
land.  There  came  a  renunciation  of  integrity  and  an  absolute 
denial  of  honor  which  appalled  all  those  who  were  strong 
enough  to  withstand  the  contagion.     Men  seemed  to  fling  prin- 


A  FIGHT  WITH  FORTUNE.  5 

ciples  to  the  winds,  and  no  obligation  to  tlie  living  or  dead  was 
strong  enough  to  bind  them.  They  were  terrible  and  evil  days 
— days  such  as  always  follow  in  the  wake  of  a  revolution — and 
among  the  fortunes  which  went  down  in  the  great  wreck  was 
that  of  the  Severns. 

With  common  honesty  and  fair  dealing,  there  would  have 
been  no  necessity  for  this,  but  many  with  whom  Francis  Severn 
had  been  intimately  connected  in  business  relations — men  whom 
he  had  trusted  and  obliged,  men  for  whom  he  had  died  while 
they  sat  in  comfort  and  security  at  home — repaid  the  debt  by 
defrauding  his  children.  It  was  a  mode  of  paying  debts  very 
common  in  those  days.  Basil,  who  had  gone  straight  from  the 
class-room  to  the  field,  naturally  found  himself  at  a  loss  when 
opposed  to  men  who  had  grown  old  in  the  intricacies  of  busi- 
ness. His  father's  estate  was  large  and  very  complicated.  Of 
claims  against  it,  he  found  an  amoimt  that  astonished  him — cer- 
tain as  he  was  that  many  of  them  were  palpably  unjust.  Of 
its  claims  aorainst  others  he  found  scarcelv  one  which  his  friend 
and  kinsman,  Mr.  Carlisle — the  only  man  in  Stansbury  on  whom 
he  could  rely  for  a  word  of  honest  advice — told  him  was  worth 
more  than  waste-paper. 

"  Not  one  man  in  a  thousand  stands  by  his  obligations  in 
these  days,"  that  gentleman  said.  "  It  is  the  carnival  of  rogues, 
and  we  are  able  to  see  how  many  there  are  who  have  hitherto 
worn  the  sheep's-clothing  of  honest  men.  It  almost  tempts  me 
to  turn  cynic  in  my  old  age,  and  think  that,  after  all,  opportunity 
is  alone  necessary  to  make  a  thief,  or  a  swindler." 

"  It  shall  not  make  either  of  me,"  said  Basil.  "  I  shall  pay 
my  father's  debts  to  the  last  farthing,  if  it  takes  every  acre  of 
his  land  and  every  dollar  of  his  property  to  do  so." 

"And  while  5'ou  are  making  a  ruinous  sacrifice  of  3'our 
father's  property,"  said  the  old  man,  knitting  his  bushy  white 
eyebrows  above  his  small,  piercing  gray  eyes,  "  what  steps  do  you 
mean  to  take  with  regard  to  the  men  who  owe  Mm  so  heavily  ?  " 

"  I  shall  institute  legal  proceedings  against  them,"  said  Ba- 
sil, in  his  simplicity. 


6  A  QUESTION   OF  nONOR. 

The  other  raised  his  eyebrows  and  his  shoulders  together. 
"Legal  proceedings — legal  fiddlesticks!"  he  said.  "Such  swin- 
dlers laugh  at  the  law.  Their  property  is  secured  out  of  reach 
— you  cannot  touch  it." 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  brave  smile  on  his  lip, 
though  his  eyes  were  sad  enough,  "  I  can  only  say  that  it  is 
better  to  be  swindled  than  to  swindle,  better  to  be  robbed  than 
to  rob.  I  envy  none  of  these  men  their  ill-gotten  prosperity, 
and  I  am  sure  that,  if  my  father  could  speak  from  his  grave,  he 
would  bid  me  think  first  of  his  name  and  last  of  his  property." 

"  But  you  must  also  think  of  your  step-mother  and  sisters. 
What  is  to  become  of  them  ?  " 

"  It  would  not  be  possible  for  me  to  hesitate  with  regard  to 
what  is  honest  if  the  alternative  was  that  of  throwino^  them  on 
the  world  homeless,"  said  Basil.  "  But  I  trust  it  is  not  so  bad 
as  that.  We  may  be  able  to  save  the  house  in  town,  and  I  can 
work  for  them.  I  have  my  right  arm,  you  know.  Many  a  poor 
fellow  came  out  of  the  army  without  his." 

"  Your  right  arm  !  "  growled  Mr.  Carlisle.  "  And  what  can 
your  right  arm  do  for  3^ou  ?  " 

He  was  pleased  by  the  young  man's  resolute  bravery,  how- 
ever, his  straightforward  honesty  and  determination  to  face  the 
worst,  and,  though  accounted  by  the  world  in  general  a  very  cold 
and  selfish  man,  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  assist  him  in  the 
storm  of  financial  trouble  which  came  on  his  inexperienced  shoul- 
ders. Out  of  the  wreck  of  a  large  estate,  Basil  would  not  have 
succeeded  in  saving  any  thing  but  for  Mr.  Carlisle's  advice  and 
assistance. 

*'  The  plantations  must  go,"  the  latter  said ;  "  there  is  no  help 
for  it.  You  know  nothing  of  planting,  and,  face  to  face  with  the 
labor-question,  which  is  making  the  most  experienced  planters 
tremble,  you  would  find  yourself  involved  in  an  endless  amount 
of  difficulty.  The  thing  to  do  will  be  to  buy  the  town-house. 
It  will  be  a  home  for  your  mother  and  sisters,  at  least.  Of 
course,"  he  added,  abruptly,  "  I  mean  that  I  will  assist  you  to  do 
so." 


A  FIGHT   WITH   FORTUNE.  7 

Severn  was  not  expecting  such  an  offer  as  this,  and  it  sur- 
prised him ;  but  he  felt  that,  for  the  sake  of  tliose  who  were 
more  helpless  than  himself,  he  could  not  refuse  it — even  if  his 
pride  had  been  averse  to  accepting  the  obligation.  But  in  truth 
this  was  not  so.  His  pride  was  of  finer  temper  than  that,  and 
he  accepted,  as  in  other  circumstances  he  would  have  given — 
frankly,  gratefully,  and  without  awkwardness  or  servility.  Only 
he  said  something  about  disliking  to  begin  his  life  with  a  weight 
of  debt. 

" How  can  you  help  it?"  asked  his  practical  friend.  "  I  know 
it  is  bad ;  but  show  me  a  remedy  ?  I  would  not  propose  such  a 
plan  if  there  was  one.  But  I  can  easily  spare  the  money;  and  if  you 
should  never  rejDay  me,  I  do  not  think  poor  Mary  w^ould  miss  it." 

"If  I  live,  I  will  certainly  repay  you,"  said  Basil,  wringing 
his  hand.     "  But,  all  the  same,  God  bless  you,  sir ! " 

People — to  wit,  some  pious  "  church-members,"  w^ho  found 
no  difficulty  in  combining  a  lively  interest  in  things  to  come 
with  a  keen  knowledge  of  how,  when,  and  w^iom  to  cheat  in 
things  present — often  said  that  Archibald  Carlisle  acted  as  if  he 
did  not  believe  in  a  God ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  above  simple 
benediction  remained  with  the.  old  man,  who,  if  he  had  lived 
like  a  heathen  all  the  days  of  his  life,  had  at  least  the  advantage 
over  some  of  his  professedly  Christian  critics,  that  he  had  lived 
like  an  upright  one.  And  when,  not  long  afterward,  Basil  gave 
him  a  note  for  the  amount  he  had  advanced — he  absolutely  re- 
fused a  mortgage  on  the  purchased  house — the  first  thing  which 
he  did  after  taking  it  home,  was  to  burn  it.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  addressed  a  letter  to  the  young  man — to  be  delivered  after 
his  death: 

"  I  have  burned  your  note,"  he  wrote,  "  because  I  do  not  wish 
any  repayment  of  the  money  which  I  have  advanced  to  you.  It 
is  a  small  sum  taken  from  the  fortune  which  I  shall  leave  poor 
Mary,  and  she  would  be  heartily  glad  if  she  knew  the  manner  in 
which  it  has  been  bestowed.  I  beg  3'Ou  to  accept  it  freely- 
taking  it,  if  you  prefer  to  do  so,  in  the  light  of  a  legacy  wdiich  1 
might  have  left  you  in  my  will  if  I  had  not  desired  to  give  you 


8  A   QUESTION    OF   HONOR. 

tlie  benefit  of  it  at  an  earlier  date.  People  do  not  feel  the 
wei2:lit  of  obli<2:ations  to  dead  men — indeed,  it  is  but  a  poor  form 
of  generosity  to  give  what  we  can  no  longer  use — neither  do 
they  refuse  their  bequests.  I  shall  wait,  therefore,  until  j^ou 
cannot  refuse  this  my  bequest,  and  I  sliould  be  truly  sorry  if  you 
felt  any  sense  of  obligation  to  me,  for  I  liked  your  father  sin- 
cerely, and  I  like  yourself.  I  have  been  glad,  therefore,  to  serve 
you." 

The  hand  which  wrote  these  kmd  words  was  lying  in  the 
BtiflF  coldness  of  death — its  life-work  over  and  done — when  Basil 
read  them ;  and  it  was  not  strange  that  they  should  have  brought 
a  choking  into  his  throat  and  a  mist  before  his  eyes.  Those  who 
have  known  only  prosperitj^ — and  who,  therefore,  have  had  the 
gratification  of  meeting  generous  and  obliging  friends  at  every 
step  in  life — can  form  little  idea  of  the  mighty  throb  of  grateful 
affection  which  the  young  man  paid  to  the  memory  of  the  sin- 
gle friend  who  had  stretched  oiit  a  hand  to  him  in  the  hour  of 
his  extremity. 

But  this  came  afterward.  At  the  time  of  that  extremity, 
affairs,  even  despite  Mr.  Carlisle's  generous  assistance,  looked 
very  dark  for  the  Severns.  Two  large  plantations  were  sold  for 
a  quarter  of  their  real  value ;  so,  also,  a  great  deal  of  property 
in  Stansbury — Basil  contenting  himself  with  buying  the  house  in 
which  they  lived.  Every  thing  realized  from  these  sales  was  swal- 
lowed wp  by  the  claims  of  the  creditors.  Nothing  w^hatever  was 
left  from  which  the  family  of  the  dead  soldier  could  derive  an  in- 
come ;  and  when  every  thing  w^as  at  last  clear,  Basil  was  con- 
fronted by  the  absolute  necessity  of  finding  some  means  of 
making  bread  for  himself,  and  the  delicately-nurtured  women 
who  were  dependent  on  him. 

Again  he  went  to  Mr.  Carlisle.  "What  can  I  do?"  he 
said.  "  A  house  and  garden  will  not  support  us,  nor  even  pay 
their  own  taxes.  I  must  do  something.  The  question  is — what  ? 
I  have  no  profession,  as  you  are  aware,  neither  have  I  the  time 
and  means  to  acquire  one.  The  idea  of  trade  is  intensely  dis- 
tasteful to  me,  but  I  could  very  easily  conquer  my  distnste  if  I 


A  FIGHT   WITH  FORTUXE.  9 

did  not  feel  sure  that  I  should  make  an  utter  failure  if  I  at- 
tempted any  thing  of  the  kind.  Besides,  I  have  no  capital. 
Now,  do  you  know  any  thing  short  of  ditch-digging  which  a 
man  without  money  and  without  talents  can  do  ?  " 

"  A  man  does  not  always  know  where  his  talents  lie,"  said 
Mr.  Carlisle.  "  You  have  a  very  good  head,"  he  went  on,  glan- 
cing with  his  quick  eyes  at  the  head  in  question.  "  There 
must  be  something  in  it.  Don't  you  like  any  thing  in  particu- 
lar ?  A  sensible  man  can  seldom  do  better  than  to  follow  his 
inclination  with  regard  to  his  occupation." 

The  young  man  shook  the  head  in  which,  his  friend  felt 
convinced,  there  was  something.  "  I  am  not  aware  that  I  like 
any  thing  at  all — that  is,  any  thing  in  particular,"  he  answered. 
"  I  have  always  been  fond  of  study — especially  of  the  higher 
branches  of  philosophy  and  mathematics — but  I  do  not  clearly 
see  how  it  is  possible  to  evolve  bread-and-cheese  out  of  metaphys- 
ics and  calculus." 

'•  It  is  not  possible,"  said  Mr.  Carlisle,  "  unless  you  become — " 

Basil  took  the  words  out  of  his  mouth.  "  A  teacher  ?  "  he 
said,  "  As  a  preference,  I  should  take  ditch-digging.  Don't 
understand  that  I  mean  any  reflection  on  those  who  are  teach- 
ers. I  only  mean  that  I  could  not  willingly  endure  such  a  life 
for  an  hour." 

"Then  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  turn  your  attention 
to  business,"  said  the  other :  and  it  raav  be  worth  while  to  ex- 
plain  that  this  word  in  the  South  is  rarely,  if  ever,  in  its  broad 
application,  taken  to  signify  trade,  but  is  used  almost  exclu- 
sively with  regard  to  the  management  of  land  and  money. 
"  The  largest  fortunes  that  I  have  known  made  in  this  part 
of  the  country,"  Mr.  Carlisle  went  on,  "  were  made  by  men 
without  either  profession  or  trade — men  who  simply  knew  how 
to  handle  capital  and  make  its  investments  pa3\  I  am  on?e  of 
those  men.  If  you  think  my  example  worth  any  thing,  I  advise 
you  to  accept  a  position  which  I  thought  yesterday  of  offering 
you,  in  connection  with  my  mills.  I  need  some  one  to  overlook 
the  whole  business.     If  vou  don't  like  the  offer,  say  so  frankly. 


10  A   QUESTION   OF   IlONOPi. 

It  is  not  what  you  were  reared  to  expect,  certainly ;  but  if  you 
mean  to  take  the  world  as  it  comes — " 

"  I  mean  to  take  it  in  just  that  manner,"  said  Severn,  "  and 
I  accept  the  offer — gratefully.  At  present,  I  am  aware,  I  can 
be  of  very  little  service  to  you,  but  I  have  lived  long  enough  to 
know  that  an  intelligent  man  who  is  willing  to  learn  and  anxious 
to  do  his  duty,  is  not  long  useless." 

"  He  is  never  useless,"  said  the  other,  emphatically. 

And  truly  Basil  was  not  long,  if  ever,  useless  to  his  old 
friend.  The  chief  income  of  the  latter  was  derived  from  several 
valuable  mills  and  factories  which  had  been  a  source  of  im- 
mense wealth  to  him  during  the  war,  though  he  had  scrupu- 
lously held  aloof  from  the  reproach  of  having  waxed  fat  on  his 
country's  necessities.  He  had  been  wise  enough  to  invest  the 
larger  part  of  the  wealth  so  realized  in  broad  and  solid  lands 
which  could  not  fly  away  when  the  final  collapse  of  funded  prop- 
ertj^  occurred.  So  it  happened  that  he  had  been  able  to  unite 
the  ability  with  the  desire  to  help  his  kinsman — for  in  those 
days  there  were  some  who  had  the  desire  to  help  others,  without 
the  ability. 

He  planted  his  good  seed  in  fruitful  ground.  He  under- 
stood that  when  he  found  what  a  capable  right  hand  the  young 
man  made  in  the  management  of  his  large  business,  what  quick 
•percejDtive  faculties,  what  good  judgment,  and  what  thorough 
integrity,  he  displayed.  For  two  years  the}^  worked  harmoni- 
ously together  ;  the  people  of  Stansbury  looking  on  suspiciously 
the  while,  and  waiting  for  the  hour  when  "  the  break  "  which 
they  prophesied  would  occur.  But  they  waited  vainly.  The 
only  break  which  occurred  was  the  one  v.'hich  must  come  sooner 
or  later  to  all  human  friendships — that  of  death.  Very  unex- 
pectedly Archibald  Carlisle  died,  leaving  Basil  Severn  sole  exec- 
utor of  the  large  estate  to  which  his  only  surviving  child — a 
daughter — was  heir. 

This  daughter,  of  whom  Stansbury  knew  very  little,  had 
been  blind  from  her  birth.  Her  health  was  frail  besides,  and 
she  rarely  left  the  country-house  which   her  father   had   built 


TWO   FACES.  i;|^ 

witliin  a  short  distance  of  tlie  town,  and  a  still  shorter  one  of 
his  factories.  Her  mother  had  been  a  cousin  of  the  Severns ; 
therefore  she  was  related  to  Basil,  and  her  trust  in  him  seemed 
as  great  as  that  of  her  father  had  been.  The  entire  business 
rested  absolutely  in  his  hands,  and  for  another  two  years  he  ad- 
ministered it  as  if  it  had  been  his  own,  without  incurring  a  sus- 
picion or  a  complaint  from  any  one  concerned. 

Five  years  had  passed  since  the  young  soldier  came  home  to 
face  his  ruined  fortunes,  when  the  mellow  October  sunshine  al- 
ready mentioned  was  pouring  its  hazy  glory  on  the  golden  elms 
and  russet  oaks  of  Stansbury.  Basil  was  now  approaching  thirty ; 
Madeleine  and '  Rosalind  \yere  women  in  more  than  garb  and 
stature.  Both  had  the  reputation  of  more  than  ordinary  beauty ; 
but  reputation  is  an  uncertain  thing  at  best,  and  any  one  passing 
the  old  house  that  afternoon  might  have  seen  both  faces,  and  so 
formed  his  own  opinion  with  regard  to  them. 


CHAPTER    II. 

TWO   FACES. 

It  chanced  that  some  one  did  see  them.  A  tall,  fair  man, 
with  that  look  of  cities  which  makes  a  man  so  marked  in  a  coun- 
try place,  was  strolling  aimlessly  along  the  side-street  next  the 
dwelling — thinking,  as  he  strolled,  how  well  the  gables  of  the 
liouse  showed  among  the  wide-spreading  oaks  which  surrounded 
it — when  the  sound  of  an  opening  casement  on  the  second  story 
attracted  his  attention,  and  made  him  glance  carelessly  in  the 
direction  of  the  noise.  The  action  was  purely  involuntary,  but 
so  charming  a  picture  met  his  gaze  that  he  could  scarcely  restrain 
the  exclamation  of  admiration  which  rose  to  his  lips,  and  he  cer- 
tainly did  not  remove  the  ej^es  which  expressed  that  admiration 
almost  as  plainly  as  the  lips  could  have  done. 

If  he  had  been  an  artist,  Arnold  Devereux  would  have  liked 


12  A   QUESTION   OF  UONOR. 

to  paint  tbat  picture.  As  it  was,  he  never  forgot  it.  The  sun 
was  shining  low  and  red,  the  ivy-leaves  were  twinkling  in  the 
wonderful  glow,  and  in  the  midst  of  these  leaves,  framed  by 
their  beautiful  shajDCS  and  tendrils,  a  girl's  blooming  face  looked 
out  toward  the  sunset  glory.  She  was  in  the  midst  of  color,  for 
the  great  oaks  arched  their  depths  of  foliage  over  her  head.  On 
one  side  of  the  casement  a  golden  maple  stood  ;  on  the  other,  a 
tall  crape-myrtle  reared  its  crest  like  a  scarlet  flame  ;  all  around 
the  deep-green  ivy  seemed  rustling  in  the  light.  A  more  perfect 
or  more  glowing  autumn  scene  could  scarcely  have  been  con- 
ceived ;  and  the  brilliancy  of  all  these  tints,  with  the  sun  stream- 
ing full  upon  them,  might  have  dazzled  the  man  who  was  look- 
ing-, if  he  had  not  already  been  dazzled  by  that  fair,  unconscious 
face.  A  fairer  he  thought  that  he  had  never  seen.  He  abso- 
lutely paused — forgetful  of  his  rudeness — amazed,  incredulous. 
It  could  not  be  that  the  girl  was  really  so  lovely  as  she  appeared. 
The  delicate  features,  the  complexion  of  indescribable  fairness 
and  bloom,  the  unbound,  curling  hair  of  warmest  brown,  which 
the  sun  was  kindling  into  gold,  the  beautiful  mystical  eyes, 
made  up  a  face  so  remarkable  that  its  presence  in  this  quiet 
country  town  astonished  him.  Men  of  the  world  are  inclined  to 
think  that  every  thing,  beauty  included,  is  only  to  be  found  in 
the  world ;  and  that  places  like  Stansbury  form  no  part  of  the 
world  we  are  well  aware. 

After  a  moment,  Mr.  Devereux  remembered  himself  sufficient- 
ly to  move  on,  and  as  he  did  so  his  step  on  the  pavement  at- 
tracted the  girl's  attention.  She  looked  down,  and  their  eyes 
met.  For  a  second  there  was  only  surprise  and  frank  observa- 
tion in  her  glance ;  then  she  remembered  suddenly  what  he  had 
not  observed — that  she  wore  only  a  dressing-sacque  over  her 
arms  and  shoulders.  It  was  of  soft,  blue  cashmere,  and  very 
becoming  ;  but  she  drew  back,  blushing  deeply.  As  she  did  so 
the  thought  presented  itself  to  her  admirer  that  it  is  not  in  any 
part  of  the  world  esteemed  a  proof  of  good-breeding  to  stare  a 
woman  out  of  countenance.  He  turned  his  eves  back  to  the 
earth,  therefore — in  time  to  avoid  a  collision  with  an  absent- 


TWO  FACES.  13 

minded  cow — and  walked  on,  wondering  if  his  siglit  had  been 
bewitched,  or  if  such  a  lovely  creature  really  existed  under  the 
mossy  old  roof,  at  which  he  now  looked  with  more  active  interest. 

Desirino;'  to  know  something:  more  of  the  house  and  its  in- 
habitants,  he  turned  when  he  reached  the  end  of  the  square  and 
followed  the  street  which  passed  in  front  of  it.  He  saw  very 
clearly  now  the  air  of  well-preserved  antiquity  which  distin- 
guished the  place,  and  he  was  conscious  of  an  increased  senti- 
ment of  respect  for  its  possessors.  He  began  to  feel  sure  that 
they  were  peojole  whom  it  would  be  well  to  know.  Now  and 
then  a  crimson  or  yellow  leaf  floated  down  lazily  on  the  white 
walk  which  led  up  to  the  house ;  the  air  seemed  dissolved  into 
gold,  the  cedar-hedge  was  tipped  with  fire.  Devereux  took  in 
the  whole  picture.  It  was  at  once  full  of  sweetness  and  sadness. 
A  large  dog  of  the  St.-Bernard  species  walked  down  to  the  gate 
and  sniffed  at  him.  Under  pretense  of  admiring  the  animal's 
noble,  sagacious  head,  he  paused  a  minute.  In  fact,  he  saw  a 
lady  on  the  portico,  and  he  wanted  an  excuse  to  look  at  her. 

It  was  not  his  peri  of  the  window.  He  recognized  that  at  a 
glance — even  if  common-sense  had  not  told  him  that  a  half- 
dressed  woman,  with  her  hair  about  her  shoulders,  was  not  likely 
to  become  a  wholly-dressed  woman,  with  her  hair  properly  coifed, 
within  ten  minutes.  Besides  which,  even  at  the  distance  of  fifty 
yards,  he  could  see  that  this  was  an  entirely  different-looking 
jDerson — an  attractive-looking  person,  however,  and  one  at  whom 
he  might  have  glanced  twice,  independent  of  her  association  with 
the  beauty  who  had  fascinated  him.  A  graceful  figure  ;  a  fair, 
harmonious  face;  eyes  the  softness  of  which  he  felt  rather  than 
saw ;  the  delicate,  arched  brows  to  which  Lavater  gives  such  ex- 
quisite significance  ;  and  the  gentle,  sensitive  lips,  the  signifi- 
cance of  which  we  need  no  Lavater  to  tell  us — these  things  could 
never,  under  anv  circumstances,  have  failed  to  receive  their  due 
meed  of  appreciation  from  Arnold  Devereux,  worshiper  of  beau- 
ty in  all  its  forms  as  he  had  been  from  his  boyhood,  and  critical 
judge  of  beauty  as  he  esteemed  himself.  He  saw  and  marked 
them  all.     "  Decidedly,  these  people  are  worth  knowing  !  "  he 


U  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

though t.  Tlicii,  feeling  that  he  had  paused  long  enough,  he 
walked  slowly  away. 

Tiie  lady  whom  he  had  scrutinized  so  closely  had,  meanwhile, 
paid  no  attention  to  him.  This  was  not  remarkable,  since  no- 
body has  two  pairs  of  eyes,  and  hers  were  just  then  gazing 
anxiously  at  a  man  vrho  stood  before  her,  leaning  his  shoulder 
against  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  portico.  He  was  a  young  man 
with  a  slender  figure,  slightly  undersized ;  a  thoughtful  face 
with  a  well-shaped  forehead,  round  which  the  brow^n  hair  curled 
crisply  ;  straight  brows  with  a  line  or  two  between  them,  show- 
ing habitual  contraction  ;  eyes  of  a  light  hazel,  rather  small,  but 
remarkably  piercing ;  a  delicate,  irregular  nose ;  and  a  mouth  the 
expression  of  which  could  only  be  a  matter  of  conjecture,  since 
it  was  altogether  covered  by  a  heavy  mustache. 

This  was  Gordon  Lacy,  the  declared  lover  and  betrothed  hus- 
band of  Madeleine  Severn.  He  had  been  in  love  with  her  for 
years,  he  had  been  engaged  to  her  for  six  months,  and  they  were, 
or  at  least  they  hoped,  to  be  married  before  very  long.  Only 
one  difficulty  stood  in  the  way,  but  that  was  the  most  insur- 
mountable difficulty  knowm  to  civilization — the  want  of  any  thing 
like  an  assured  income  on  which  two  people  could  afford  to  be- 
gin the  world.  It  will  be  seen  that  Miss  Severn's  choice  was 
not  as  wise  as  that  of  a  young  lady  in  the  nineteenth  century 
should  be  ;  though  it  may  be  said,  in  her  justification,  that  Lacy 
had  been  a  very  devoted  lover,  one  of  those  who  know  with  how 
much  faithfulness,  gallantry,  and  tenderness,  a  man  should  woo 
the  woman  whom  he  hopes  to  make  his  wife.  Perhaps  the  in- 
spiration of  this  "  loyal  gravity,"  as  Mrs.  Browning  calls  it,  was 
in  Madeleine  herself,  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  remains, 
that  she  was  won  at  last ;  and  Lacy  often  told  her,  with  a  lover- 
like enthusiasm,  yet  with  truth  too,  that  she  was  the  anchor 
which  held  his  life — the  one  steady  thing  in  a  chaos  of  inde- 
terminate hopes,  fears,  desires,  intentions,  fancies. 

Yet,  with  all  his  errors,  he  was  a  very  charming  person — 
when  he  chose  to  be,  as  his  friends  always  added.  His  manner 
was  at  times  singularly  winning,  though   again  irritable,  and 


TWO  FACES.  15 

often  supercilious.  For  the  irritability,  perhaps  he  was  not 
greatly  to  blame,  since  it  arose  from  temperament ;  but,  for  the 
superciliousness,  his  historian  is  not  inclined  to  make  any  excuse. 
People  in  general  also  said  of  him  that  he  was  conceited,  and 
very  likely  the  charge  was  in  a  measure  just.  It  is  at  least  cer- 
tain that  Nature  had  bestowed  on  him  a  more  than  ordinary 
share  of  intellectual  cleverness,  a  refined  taste,  a  poetic  fancy, 
and  a  remarkable  gift  of  facile  expression.  It  may  readily  be 
imagined  that,  in  a  not  very  intellectual  country  town,  these 
things  made  their  possessor  a  man  of  note,  and,  if  Lacy  had  been 
inclined,  he  might  have  been  a  provincial  lion  and  oracle  of  great 
weight  and  celebrity.  So  far  from  feeling  inclined,  however,  he 
marked  his  disdain  of  such  reputation  rather  too  plainl3\  The 
good  people  of  Stansbury  felt  that  he  looked  down  upon  them 
from  the  height  of  superior  culture,  and  his  unpopularity  conse- 
quently waxed  as  great  as  his  popularity  in  other  circumstances 
might  have  done. 

In  family,  he,  like  the  Severns,  belonged  to  the  best  of  the 
old  aristocracy  of  the  South — ^the  class  which,  as  a  class,  have 
little  left  now  save  good  blood  and  fine  breeding.  Assuredly, 
Lacy  had  little  else.  He  was  a  lawyer,  admitted  to  practise  at 
the  bar,  but  as  yet  his  practice  had  amounted  to  very  little,  nor 
did  it  seem  likely  that  it  would  ever  amount  to  much.  His  very 
cleverness  stood  in  the  way  of  his  professional  advancement.  It 
was  known  in  Stansbury  that  he  had  a  literary  bias,  and  people 
were  inclined  to  doubt  the  legal  ability  of  a  novel-and-poem- 
writing  lawyer.  Lacy,  whose  desire  was  all  toward  letters,  paid 
scant  regard  to  their  opinion.  His  father  admonished  him,  but 
the  young  man  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  these  admonitions.  He  was 
making  money  by  his  pen  ;  he  had  begun  to  taste  the  sweets 
of  reputation,  and  no  man  could  have  persuaded  him  to  draw 
back  from  a  labor  he  loved,  to  encounter  a  drudgery  which  he 
detested.  For  a  while  he  had  been  almost  intoxicated  with  the 
sense  of  success ;  and  it  was  at  this  time,  with  a  dazzling  glam- 
our of  future  wealth  and  fame  before  his  eyes,  that  he  asked 
Madeleine  to  marrv  him. 


16  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

But,  by  the  present  October  evening,  he  had  discovered  some 
of  the  thorns  in  his  new  career.     He  had  learned  that  it  takes 
time  to  realize  the  fairest  prospects,  and  that  wealth  does  not 
follow  so  immediately  in  the  wake  of  reputation  as  the  world  in 
general  is  prone  to  imagine.     Then  a  wave  of  terrible  despond- 
ency swept  over  him.     Plis  was  a  temperament  peculiarly  sub- 
ject to  depression,  to  doubt,  suspicion,  distrust.     These  were  his 
household  fiends — his  tormentors  in  the  dark  hours  which  come 
to  all  of  us.     They  gathered  like  furies  about  him  now,  mak- 
ing his  work  seem  unutterably  paltry,  and  of  little  value;  taunt- 
ing him  with  having  sacrificed  his  professional  prospects  to  a 
phantasm  which  he  would  never  realize.     In  this  mood,  with 
a  curtain  of  gloom  drawn  over  the  whole  vrcrld,  he  had  come  to 
Madeleine ;  and  Madeleine,  with  all  her  heart  in  her  tender  eyes, 
was  listening  to  him  when  Arnold  Devereux  paused  at  the  gate. 
Seen  thus,  she  was  certainly  very  fair  to  look  upon — a  woman 
with  a  charm  deeper  and  subtiler  than  the  graceful  beauty  of  her 
face.     A  caressing  smile,  a  voice  of  rare  sweetness,  and  the  gra- 
cious courtesy  of  a  young  princess — these  things  made  her  dif- 
ferent from  other  women ;  but  there  was  something  even  more 
than  these  in  which  the  essence  of  what  people  called  "  Made- 
leine Severn's  attraction  "  lay.     This  was  her  perfect  unselfish- 
ness— at  once  the  rarest  and  the  noblest  groundwork  which  char- 
acter can  possess — of  which  was  born  a  charity,  consideration, 
and  sympathy,  that  made  her  the  most  invaluable  of  counselors, 
the  most  faithful  of  friends. 

"  I  have  been  almost  ready  to  blow  out  my  brains,"  Lacy  was 
saying.  "  You  can't  imagine  how  hopeless  and  miserable  I  have 
felt.  Every  thing  has  seemed  ebbing  away  from  me — life,  hope, 
independence,  yoxi,!  I  have  seen  myself  in  the  mirror  of  my 
own  mind  as  a  presumptuous  fool.  A  thousand  wild  plans  and 
fancies  have  come  to  me." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Madeleine,  putting  up  a  hand  as  tender  as 
her  eves — a  slender,  delicate  hand,  with  a  mao:netic  thrill  in  its 
clasp.  She  drew  him  down  to  a  chair  by  her  side.  "  Your  mind 
is  overwrought,"  she  said.     "You  see  nothing  in  its  true  pro- 


TWO   FACES.  17 

portions.     A  little  while  ago  jou  hoped  too  much,  now  you  have 
gone  to  the  other  extreme  of  despondency." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  if  you  knew  I  hoped  too  much  ?  " 
demanded  Lacy,  in  an  injured  tone.  "  You  encouraged  me  in 
my  folly,  my  vanity,  my — " 

"  I  encouraged  you  in  your  work,"  she  interposed.  "  In  that 
I  encourage  you  still ;  but  I  told  you  then — did  I  not  ? — that 
you  expected  your  hopes  to  be  realized  too  immediately.  Noth- 
ing comes  in  a  day — at  least,  nothing  worth  having.  That  is  a 
truism,  but  sometimes  truisms  are  the  best  things  we  can  hear. 
You  must  have  patience,  Gordon — dear  Gordon." 

When  Madeleine  said  "  dear  Gordon,"  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
the  look  in  her  eyes,  was  more  than  another  woman's  most  pas- 
sionate term  of  endearment.  At  least  her  lover  thought  so,  as 
he  raised  the  hand  which  still  rested  in  his  with  a  quick  motion 
to  his  lips.  There  was  no  one  to  see.  Devereux  had  walked 
away.  Only  Lance,  the  great  dog,  was  in  sight,  and  he  looked 
on  benignantl}' — slowly  sauntering  toward  them  with  his  plumy 
tail  drooping. 

"  You  are  an  angel,  Madeleine,"  said  Lacy  ;  "  but,  when  you 
tell  me  to  have  patience,  you  forget  that  all  this  is  keeping  us 
apart — that  I  am  losing  precious  time — that  we  have  already 
been  enQ-aD-ed  six  months,  and  that  I  swore  lono-  aa-o  never  to  ask 
any  woman  to  waste  the  bloom  of  her  youth  in  waiting  for  me." 

"  Foolish  oaths  are  best  forsworn,"  said  Madeleine,  with  her 
sweet  smile.  "  Suppose  a  woman  whom  you  loved — you  do  love 
her,  do  you  not  ? — had  no  other  use  for  the  bloom  of  her  youth 
bat  to  give  it  to  you,  would  you  refuse  to  take  it  ?  " 

"  Refuse  !  my  darling,  my  own  darling !  " 

"  Well,  that  is  settled,  then.  When*  I  said,  '  You  must  have 
patience,'  I  did  not  dissociate  you  from  rgyself  for  a  moment.  I 
thought,  '  We  must  have  patience.'  You  will  conquer  fortune  in 
the  end;  I  am  sure  of  that,  and,  meanwhile — O  Gordon,  is  all  lost 
while  we  love  each  other,  trust  each  other,  and  see  each  other?" 

"  Nothing  is  lost !  "  said  Gordon,  "  nothing !  O  Madeleine, 
what  a  comforter  you  are  !     You  must  think  me  an  ungratefu^ 


IS  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

coward,  but  if  you  could  only  know  how  wretched  and  despair- 
ing- I  have  felt — " 

"  My  poor  boy !  "  said  she,  softly,  "  I  fancy  I  know  it  all. 
When  one  loves  very  much,  one  feels  a  great  many  things  through 
the  sheer  magnetism  of  love.  I  felt  your  trouble  just  that  w^a}^ 
I  know  every  pang  you  have  suflfered."  She  looked  at  him  with 
her  eyes  shining  through  a  mist  of  tears.  "  I,  too,  have  suffered 
them,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  am  resolved  to  be  brave.  I  believe  in 
you,  Gordon  ;  will  you  not  believe  in  yourself  ?  " 

What  could  Gordon  say  ?  What  could  any  man  have  said, 
adjured  to  faith  in  himself  by  such  tones  as  those?  It  is  not  a 
hard  lesson  to  learn — that  of  belief  in  one's  self — and  it  was  one 
which  Lacy  had  never  at  any  time  needed  to  learn.  His  present 
self-distrust  was  only  the  reaction  from  the  overweening  self-con- 
fidence which  had  preceded  it.  He  was  a  man  who  felt  failure 
and  rebuff  acutely — felt  them  in  every  fibre  of  his  mind  and  body, 
and  he  was  writhing  under  them  just  now.  But,  when  Made- 
leine spoke,  his  eyes  lighted,  the  sun  shone  over  the  world  again. 
This  was  the  ideal  comforter !  This  was  one  of  the  women 
formed  by  Heaven  for  the  especial  aid  and  encouragement  of 
flagging  genius  !  Believe  in  himself!  For  her  sake  he  would 
not  have  hesitated  to  believe  himself  an  intellectual  giant. 

"  And  now,  vrhat  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Madeleine.  "  Has  any 
thing  occurred  ? — any  thing  new — to  dishearten  you  so  much  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  the  old  doubts,"  he  answered ;  "  doubts 
whether  I  am  acting  wisely  to  neglect  a  profession  in  which  I 
might  attain  a  fair  measure  of  success,  for  the  hope  of  a  career 
in  literature.  Sometimes  I  think  my  father  is  right  and  I  am  a 
fool ;  again  I  feel  an  assured  conviction  that  I  shall  never  do  any 
thing  except  in  the  line  in  which  my  fancy — and  such  talent  as  I 
have — lies."  ^ 

"  And  you  are  right  when  you  yield  to  that  conviction,"  said 
Madeleine.  "  Gordon,  do  you  think  my  judgment  is  worth  any 
thino'?" 

Gordon's  answer  was  prompt.  He  had  never  known  any  one 
whose  judgment  could  compare  to  hers. 


TWO   FACES.  19 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  you  may  trust  me  when  I  say  that  I  am 
sure  you  are  in  the  right  path.  I  am  sure  you  are  a  born  writer. 
I  do  not  think  you  are  a  great  genius — I  have  never  told  you 
that,  vou  know." 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  said  Lacy,  conscious,  however,  that 
there  was  a  decided  falling  off  from  the  ideal  comforter  in 
this. 

"  But  you  are  very  clever,"  said  she,  "  and  there  is  this  differ- 
ence between  cleverness  and  genius :  the  former  always  succeeds, 
the  latter  often  fails."  Then,  seeing  that  the  lines  between  her 
companion's  brows  began  to  deepen  a  little,  she  went  on,  quickly : 
'  You  must  not  think  that  I  undervalue  your  talents  because  I 
speak  like  this.  I  know  that  they  are  rare  and  great.  You 
have  an  exquisite  fancy,  you  have  imagination  and  discernment, 
and  I  am  sure  that,  as  a  writer  of  pure  and  delicate  English,  you 
will  .some  day  stand  without  a  rival  in  our  literature.  Feeling 
this,  I  cannot  bear  for  you  to  let  your  pov/ers  rust ;  I  want  you 
to  use  them  so  that  all  the  world  may  know  and  admire  you,  as 
I  do." 

Madeleine  was  not  usually  enthusiastic,  and  this  little  burst 
amused,  even  while  it  touched.  Lacy. 

^^ Mignonne^^  he  said,  tenderly,  "  you  would  spoil  anybody ! 
Soft  little  hands,  sweet,  sensitive  lips — how  true  and  strong  you 
are  !     Ah,  Madeleine,  what  should  I  do  without  you  ?" 

"  Honestly,  I  think  you  would  do  very  badly,"  replied  Made- 
eine,  with  the  caressing  smile  which  those  who  loved  her  saw 
often  on  her  face. 

"  What  is  it  that  he  would  do  very  badly  ?  "  asked  a  voice 
behind  them. — "  Good-evening,  Gordon.  What  a  charming  day 
it  has  been,  has  it  not  ?  " 

"  Good-evening,  Rosalind,"  answered  Gordon  as  he  rose,  and, 
turning,  faced  a  girl  who  stood  in  the  open  hall-door.  "  Yes,  it 
has  been  very  charming — a  day  of  which  to  dream,  or  in  which 
to  dream,  as  you  please.  I  confess  I  have  done  a  great  deal  of 
the  last.  But,  are  you  shod  with  magic,  that  you  come  upon  one 
so  noiselessly?" 


20  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

"No,  lain  shod  witli  silence,"  answered  Rosalind,  extending 
a  foot  clad  in  a  velvet  slipper.  She  lifted  her  long  lashes  and 
looked  at  him  with  her  lovely  blue-gray  eyes  as  she  did  so.  He 
was  her  future  brother-in-law,  but,  all  the  same,  she  had  no  ob- 
jection to  his  admiring  the  perfect  lines  of  her  instep  and  ankle. 
lie,  on  his  part,  thought  that  she  was,  if  possible,  prettier  than 
usual.  There  was  the  softest  and  clearest  flush  on  her  rounded 
cheeks,  her  e3'es  had  a  dazzled  brightness,  as  if  the  sunset  was 
lingering  in  them,  her  lips  had  that  dewy  freshness  which  we 
sometimes  see  on  those  of  a  little  child  when  it  has  just  wakened 
from  sleep.  A  divine  aroma  of  youth  seemed  breathed  over  her. 
Psyche  herself  could  not  have  been  fairer.  "  What  is  to  become 
of  the  girl  ?  "  Lacy  thought.     "  She  grows  lovelier  every  day." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  that  you  look  so 
well  this  evenino;  ?  "  he  asked,  with  the  frankness  of  life-lono-  in- 
timacy.  "  If  you  keep  on  at  this  rate,  I  fear  we  shall  have  a 
Trojan  War  about  you,  sooner  or  later." 

"  Who  would  fight  ?  "  Rosalind  asked,  witli  a  soft  laugh. 
She  had  no  diseased  appetite  for  compliments,  but  when  she  knew 
that  she  was  looking  particularly  pretty,  she  liked  well  enough 
to  receive  that  assurance  from  others.  "  James  Champion  and 
— and — who  else  ?     I  am  deplorably  short  of  admirers  just  now." 

"  Short  of  admirers  ? "  repeated  Lacy,  arching  his  brows. 
"  That  is  the  last  complaint  I  should  have  expected  to  hear.  Are 
women  never  satisfied,  I  wonder  ?  How  many  Orlandos  would 
you  like,  to  carve  your  name  on  trees  and  hang  their  boughs 
with  verses  in  your  honor  ?  Is  not  every  man  in  Stansburj- — 
with  a  few  trifling  exceptions — your  admirer,  more  or  less  ?  " 

"  That  last  clause  is  equivocal,"  said  she.  "  How  do  you  de- 
fine *  more  or  less  ? '  Not  that  it  matters,  for  I  am  tired  of 
Stansbury  admirers,  and,  like  Alexander,  I  sigh  for  new  worlds 
to  conquer.  Unlike  iVlexander,  I  know  that  there  are  new 
worlds,  which  makes  my  inability  to  conquer  them  very — well, 
very  hard  to  bear." 

"  It  must  be  hard,"  said  Lacy,  looking  with  a  smile  at  the 
winsome  fairness  of  her  blooming  face. 


TWO  FACES.  21 

"  I  should  like  to  be  an  heiress,"  pursued  Rosalind,  with  an 
air  of  mature  deliberation.  "  I  should  like  to  be  as  rich  as  Mary 
Carlisle.  There  would  be  no  trouble  then  about  finding  the  new 
worlds — or  conquering  them  either." 

"  I  imagine  there  are  few  of  us  who  would  object  to  the  gift 
of  fortune,"  said  Lacy,  a  little  gloomily. 

"  I  should  be  very  happy  myself,"  said  Rosalind,  decidedh', 
"  and  I  would  make  everybody  else  happy.  Here  is  Madeleine 
— I  would  settle  a  fortune  on  her  at  once.  But  if  you  did  not 
marry  her  off-hand  and  take  care  of  it,  Gordon,  she  would  give 
it  all  away  within  three  weeks." 

"  Thanks  for  your  kind  intention,"  said  Madeleine.  "  But 
when  you  are  wishing  for  Mary  Carlisle's  fortune,  does  it  never 
occur  to  you  to  consider  " — here  she  stepped  behind  the  other 
and  laid  her  hand  over  the  beautiful  eyes — "  whether  you  would 
take  it  at  that  price  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  answered  Rosalind,  sharply,  as  she  drew  down  the 
hand.  "  Wh}^  should  it  ?  Are  rich  people  alwa3'S  blind  ?  That 
is  absurd,  Madeleine  !  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  absurd,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Cer- 
tainly rich  people  are  not  always  blind;  but  when  I  hear  you 
envying  poor  Mary,  how  can  I  help  thinking  with  what  gladness 
she  would  give  all  her  wealth  for  health  and  sight." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Rosalind,  in  a  tone  of  strong 
skepticism.  "  It  always  strikes  me  that  Mary  is  very  well  sat- 
isfied as  she  is." 

Madeleine's  lips  unclosed  for  a  reply,  but  closed  again  with- 
out uttering  it.  Plainly  Miss  Severn  had  learned  the  uselessness 
of  combating  some  opinions.  So,  for  a  minute  there  was  si- 
lence. The  sun  sank  behind  the  red  and  yellow  foliage  into  a 
sea  of  translucent  gold,  the  glowing  colors  seemed  to  die  out, 
the  oaks  looked  dark,  the  elms  melancholy,*the  blue  haze  deep- 
ened into  mist ;  all  in  a  minute  the  scene,  lately  so  brilliant,  was 
sad  and  autumn-like.  Yet  it  had  still  its  own  tender  beauty, 
for  the  air  was  soft,  and  the  draping  mist  and  russet  tints  were 
lovely  even  in  their  sadness.     A  spell  seemed  to  hold  the  little 


22  A   QUESTION   OF  KOXOR. 

group  in  stillness.     But  it  \yas  only  for  a  minute.     A  horseman 
came  at  a  quick  canter  clown  the  quiet  street.     Lance  dashed 
eagerly  toward   tlie  gate.      Rosalind  moved  forward  across  a 
flood  of  golden  sunset  light. 
"  Basil  is  coming,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER    III. 

basil's  YEXATTOI^". 

The  gate  swung  open  and  shut,  and  Basil's  lithe  figure^ 
with  its  square  shoulders  and  the  military  step  he  had  never 
lost,  was  seen  advancing  up  the  walk,  with  Lance  curveting 
round  him. 

"  Something  is  the  matter,"  said  Rosalind,  glancing  back  at 
the  others.  "  I  know  exactly  how  Basil  walks  when  he  is 
vexed." 

And,  indeed,  when  Basil  drew  nearer  and  lifted  his  hat  from 
his  brow,  it  was  evident  that  something  was  the  matter.  Wheth- 
er he  was  vexed,  as  Rosalind  said,  or  whether  he  was  worried, 
as  Madeleine  thought,  it  was  at  least  certain  that  he  did  not 
look  at  all  like  his  usual  self,  for  it  was  not  his  usual  custom  to 
bring  an  overcast  brow  home  with  him.  It  was  not  according 
to  his  nature  to  brood  over  trouble,  and  business  .vexations  rare- 
ly ruffled  his  manner  even  in  business-hours.  Out  of  business- 
hours,  he  left  them  absolutelv  behind  him.  Those  whom  he  was 
advancing  to  meet  knew  this  so  well,  that  their  surprise  was 
great  and  their  inquiries  immediate.  What  was  the  matter  ? 
they  asked.  Why  should  they  imagine  that  any  thing  was  the 
matter  ?  he  answered,  sitting  down  on  the  steps  as  he  spoke, 
and  pulling  Lance's  silken  ears. 

"  If  I  had  a  mirror,  I  would  show  you  why  we  think  so," 
Madeleine  replied.  "  There  is  no  good  in  attempting  to  deceive 
one,  Basil ;  your  face  is  too  transparent." 


BASIL'S   VEXATION.  23 

'*  Is  it  ?  "  said  Basil,  passing  his  hand  over  the  face  in  ques- 
tion. "  I  flattered  myself  that  it  was  rather  impassive  than 
otherwise." 

"  What  accurate  opinions  we  have  of  ourselves  !  "  said  Rosa- 
lind. "  Bat  tell  us  what  is  the  matter  ?  Has  any  thing  un- 
pleasant happened  ?  Don't  you  know  there  is  nothing  more 
trying  than  suspense  ?  " 

Lacy  alone  asked  no  questions,  and  at  him  Basil  glanced. 
"  Gordon  knows  what  has  occurred,"  he  said.  Then  he  frowned 
slightly. — "  You  have  heard  that  Devereux  is  in  town,  have  you 
not  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  other  nodded.  "His  appearance  has  created  quite  a 
stir,"  he  said.  "  People  are  wondering  why  he  has  come.  Have 
you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  answered  Basil,  shortly. 

"  Devereux ! "  repeated  Rosalind,  in  a  tone  of  great  interest. 
"  Do  you  mean  the  man  of  the  lawsuit — the  man  who  claims  so 
much  of  the  Carlisle  property  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  replied  Lacy.  "  If  I  had  known  that  j^ou  were 
in  ignorance  of  his  arrival,  I  should  have  mentioned  the  inter- 
estino'  fact  earlier." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  for  sarcasai,"  said  she  ;  "  but  it  is 
an  interesting  fact — any  thing  is  interesting  that  stirs  the  stag- 
nant quiet  of  Stansbury  life.  And,  pray,  when  did  Mr.  Devereux 
arrive,  and  how  long  does  he  mean  to  stay,  and  what  has  he 
come  for  ?  Basil,  vou  must  know  somethinsi:  about  him,  so  tell 
us  at  once  !  " 

"  I  know  very  little,"  said  Basil.  "  The  first  I  heard  of  the 
matter  was  from  Mary  Carlisle.  She  sent  a  message  to  the 
mills  this  afternoon,  asking  me  to  come  over  to  the  Lodge.  Of 
course  I  went  at  once,  and  I  found  her  quite  nervous  and  ex- 
cited. She  had  received  a  note  from  Mr.  Devereux  announcing 
his  arrival  in  Stansbury,  and  begging  to  see  her.  She  was  sur- 
prised, and  so  was  I.  'Why  should  he  wish  to  see  me?'  she 
asked.  That  I  was  unable  to  tell,  but  I  strongly  advised  her  to 
refer  him  to  her  lawyer.     But  women " — with  a  shrug — "are  so 


24  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

impracticable  !  It  is  a  great  misfortune  that  they  should  ever 
be  connected  with  business.  Some  fine  j^hrases  in  Devereux's 
note  had  pleased  her.  I  could  see  that  she  wanted  to  grant  the 
interview  for  which  he  asked." 

"  But  why  did  he  ask  it  ?  "  inquired  Madeleine.  "  Surely  he 
gave  some  reason  for  making  such  a  request." 

Basil  frowned  again.  "  He  gave  no  reason  that  amounted  to 
any  thing.  He  talked  of  their  conflicting  interests,  and  of  de- 
siring, if  possible,  to  find  some  way  of  reconciling  them — all  of 
which  is  nonsense,  as  I  told  Mary.  If  it  is  a  compromise  at 
which  he  is  hinting,  Champion  is  the  proper  person  to  see  him, 
and  tell  him  that  we  will  not  surrender  an  inch." 

"  But  it  may  not  be  a  compromise  that  he  means,"  said  Rosa- 
lind. "  It  may  be  quite  a  different  mode  of  reconciling  their 
opposing  interests.  Basil,  I  am  confident  that  he  wants  to 
marry  her ! " 

"  Good  Heavens,  Rosalind ! "  said  her  brother,  starting. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  such  a  suggestion  ?  " 

"  Is  it  not  reasonable  ?  "  asked  the  girl.  "  It  seems  so  to 
me. — Madeleine,  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  Mary's  great  affliction  ought  to  shield  her  from 
such  remarks,"  answered  Madeleine,  reproachfully. 

"  Really,  I  cannot  see  why  Mary's  affliction  should  put  her  out 
of  the  pale  of  women  who  can  marry,"  said  Rosalind,  coolly. 

"  The  Stansbury  people  decided  long  ago  that  Basil  will  end 
by  marrying  her,"  said  Lacy. 

The  blood  mounted  to  Basil's  brow  m  a  tide.  Few  women 
are  as  sensitive  as  he  was  about  reports  of  this  kind — especially 
with  regard  to  Mary  Carlisle.  He  held,  like  Madeleine,  that  her 
great  affliction  should  have  exempted  her  from  such  shafts  of 
gossip. 

"  The  Stansbury  people  are  a  set  of  insufferable  meddlers  ! " 
said  he,  curtly.  "  It  is  strange  that  they  cannot  let  Mary  Car- 
lisle and  myself  alone.  Neither  of  us  takes  the  least  interest  in 
their  marryings  or  givings  in  marriage." 

"  You  cannot  offend  people  more  than  by  taking  no  interest 


BASIL'S   VEXATION.  25 

in  their  affairs,"  said  Lacy.     "  They  would  forgive  you  sooner  if 
you  accused  them  of  every  crime  in  the  Decalogue." 

"  Yes,"  said  Madeleine,  "  a  gossip  is  a  sociable  being  at  least ; 
while  those  who  don't  gossip  are  held  to  be  supercilious,  and  to 
consider  themselves  better  than  their  neighbors." 

"  Perha^DS  I  have  a  depraved  taste,"  said  Rosalind;  "but  it 
seems  to  me  that  a  little  gossip  now  and  then  is  relished  by  the 
best  of  us.  For  example,  this  Mr.  Devereux — don't  you  feel  an 
interest  in  knowing  something  about  him  ?  Hasn't  he  quite  a 
society  reputation  ?     I  think  I  have  heard  so." 

"  You  have  heard  correctly,"  said  Lacy.  "  He  has  quite 
a  society  reputation.  By  all  accounts,  he  is  one  of  the  men 
who  are  preeminently  fitted  for  society  —  and  for  nothing 
else." 

"  I  fancy  I  must  have  seen  him  this  afternoon,"  pursued  the 
young  lady.  "  As  I  opened  my  window  a  little  before  sunset,  I 
noticed  a  man  on  the  street  who  was — well,  who  was  staring  at 
me  in  the  most  undisguised  manner.  Is  Mr.  Devereux  tall  and 
blond,  does  he  wear  an  English  hat,  and  his  beard  in  the  fash- 
ion of  the  Emperor  Maximilian  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  satisfy  you  with  regard  to  any  of 
those  important  particulars,"  said  Basil,  dryly  ;  "  but  I  think 
you  must  have  been  guilty  of  some  undisguised  staring  to  dis- 
cover so  much." 

"  I  can  satisfy  you,"  said  Lacy.  "  That  is  the  man.  I  saw 
him  this  morning.  His  appearance  is  calculated  to  make  a  sen- 
sation in  a  quiet  place  like  Stansbury." 

"  He  looked  interesting,"  said  Rosalind,  meditatively.  "  I  was 
wishing  a  little  while  ago  that  I  was  in  Mary  Carlisle's  place — 
as  rich  as  she  is,  I  mean.  If  I  were,  I  should  certainly  see  Mr. 
Devereux,  and  judge  of  him  myself." 

"  I  supjDose  you  think  that  you  would  be  quite  capable  of 
judging  of  him,"  said  Basil,  with  the  nearest  approach  to  a 
brotherly  sneer  which  he  ever  permitted  himself. 

The  girl  laughed — an  indolent,  musical  sound,  which  rang 
out  sweetly  on  the  soft  air.     "  Why  not  ?  "  she  asked.     "  Wom- 


26  A   QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

en  are  born  readers  of  character.     At  all  events,  I  would  see 
liim  and — hear  hiui  1     I  am  sure  he  talks  well." 

''  Because  he  is  tall  and  blond,  and  wears  his  beard  accord- 
ing to  the  fashion  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  I  jDresume!" 
said  Basil,  who  was  very  much  chafed. 

Before  Rosalind  could  reply,  a  bell  suddenly  rang  in  the  hall. 

"  Tea  is  ready,"  said  Madeleine,  with  an  air  of  relief.  "  Now, 
suppose  we  defer  any  further  discussion  of  Mr.  Devereux  until 
it  is  over  ?  " 

Five  minutes  later,  they  were  all  gathered  round  one  of  the 
pretty,  old-fashioned  tea-tables — a  table  polished  until  it  shone 
like  a  mirror,  with  crotcheted  mats,  delicate  egg-shell  china, 
rich  silver,  and  sparkling  glass.  At  the  head  of  it  was  a  lady 
in  a  widow's  cap.  The  resemblance  between  herself  and  Rosa- 
lind was  apparent  at  a  glance,  though  the  daughter's  face  was 
probably  more  beautiful  than  the  mother's  had  ever  been.  The 
room  in  which  they  were  sitting  was  furnished  in  the  fashion  of 
twenty  years  back,  for  the  whole  house  had  been  refitted  when 
Francis  Severn  brouo-ht  his  second  bride  home.  The  sideboard 
and  curtains  had  been  new  and  fresh  when  that  face,  now  worn 
with  suffering  and  faded  with  tears,  had  been  almost  as  young 
and  fair  as  Rosalind's.  The  sideboard  and  curtains,  as  Mrs. 
Severn  often  remarked  with  pardonable  pride  in  her  good  house- 
keeping, looked  as  well  as  ever ;  but  the  face — alas  !  for  this 
poor  humanity  of  which  we  are  so  proud,  for  these  brief  roses 
of  youth  and  beauty  which  perish  so  utterly  ! 

Despite  Madeleine's  recommendation,  it  was  not  long  before 
the  Devereux  subject  came  on  the  tajns  again.  Both  Basil  and 
Rosalind  were  too  much  interested  to  let  it  rest.  Scarcely  were 
the}'  all  served  with  their  respective  cups  of  tea  and  coffee,  when 
the  latter  began  : 

"  Mamma,  we  have  some  news  for  you.  Do  you  not  see  that 
Basil  is  dreadfully  vexed  ?  Why,  it  is  the  most  evident  thing 
in  the  world !  Look  at  him,  and  you  will  see  it.  Now,  what 
do  you  sujDpose  has  happened  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Severn,  glancing  at  her  step 


BASIL'S  VEXATION. 


27 


son  with  an  air  of  anxiety.     "  There  is  no  bad  news,  I  hope. 
Basil,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  importance  to  any  one  present  except  myself, 
mother,"  answered  Basil.  "  And  nothing  to  me,  personallj^  It 
is  only  that  I  aai  afraid  Mary  Carlisle  intends  to  act  in  a  very 
foolish  manner." 

"  Is  she  going  to  be  married  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Severn,  quickly, 
and  somewhat  dismayed — for  she  had  her  own  secret  hopes  wdth 
regard  to  Mary  Carlisle. 

"  Heaven  and  earth — no  !  "  said  Basil.  "  How  women's 
minds  do  seem  to  run  on  marriage ! " 

"  You  see  that  somebody  besides  myself  thinks  that  Mary 
Carlisle  might  marry,  if  she  chose,"  said  Rosalind. 

"  What  is  she  going  to  do,  then  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Severn.  "  I 
thought  Mary  never  was  foolish." 

At  this,  the  gentleman  in  an  English  hat,  who  wore  his  beard 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  EmjDeror  Maximilian,  came  forth 
again,  and  walked  up  and  dowui  the  supper-table  for  the  next 
ten-'minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  time  a  peal  of  the  door-bell 
arrested  the  discussion. 

"  That  is  James  Champion,"  said  Rosalind,  whose  'quick  ear 
caught  the  cadence  of  the  voice  asking  for  Basil.  "He  wants 
to  see  yoii^"*  she  went  on,  turning  to  her  brother,  "  so  I  suppose 
he  has  come  on  business ;  but  there  is  no  objection  to  asking  him 
in,  and  giving  him  some  tea." 

Nobody  offering  any  objection,  Mr.  Champion  was  accord- 
ingly asked  in,  and,  although  he  had  probably  risen  from  his 
own  tea-table  not  long  before,  he  made  no  demur  about  accept- 
ing the  invitation.  A  minute  later  Rosalind  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  his  strong,  dark  face  opposite  her  own.  A  very 
strong  and  very  dark  face  it  was,  a  face  looking  older  than  its 
years  on  account  of  the  mental  and  moral  force  which  character- 
ized it,  and  which  impressed  every  one  so  deejily  with  its  intel- 
ligence and  resolution,  that  few  people  thought  Avhether  or  not 
it  was  handsome. 

If  Rosalind  had  found  any  enduring  attraction  in  this  face, 


38  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 


V 


nobody  knew — herself,  perhaps,  as  little  as  any.  People  said 
that  James  Champion  had  been  in  love  with  her  ever  since  he 
came  back  from  the  army,  and  found  a  blooming  maiden  in  the 
first  flush  of  her  girlliood.  If  this  were  so,  it  is  certain  that  he 
had  never  followed  the  example  of  her  other  admirers  and  "  made 
a  fool  of  himself  "  about  her.  He  left  that  amusement  to  men 
with  less  serious  business  in  life,  and  less  stead}^  self-control  than 
he  possessed.  AA'hen  Rosalind  tried  him  too  far,  he  quietly  ab- 
sented himself  from  her  society — if  necessary,  for  months.  Bat 
he  had  never  been  known  to  pay  more  than  the  merest  attention 
of  civility  to  any  other  woman,  even  at  these  times.  "Women  in 
the  abstract  seemed  to  possess  no  attraction  for  him — indeed,  he 
freely  confessed  that,  as  a  general  rule,  their  society  wearied  him 
— and  those  who  knew  him  best  said  that,  if  he  failed  to  win  the 
bright  prize  which  he  had  coveted  so  long,  it  was  not  likely  that 
lie  would  ever  marry  at  all,  or  at  least  not  for  love. 

It  had  been  several  weeks  since  Rosalind  had  seen  him  last, 
and  they  had  parted  then  in  any  thing  but  an  amicable  manner. 
Hence,  perhaps,  her  anxiety  that  he  might  be  invited  in  to  tea ; 
hence,  certainly,  her  silence  after  he  came. 

Mr.  Champion  made  no  secret  of  his  business  with  Basil.  He 
had  come  to  know  what  the  arrival  of  "  that  Devereux  "  meant. 
Having  fought  the  Devereux  claim  for  two  years  with  every 
weapon  which  the  legal  armory  could  furnish,  and  with  the  most 
unflagging  spirit  and  determination,  he  was  naturally  dismayed 
at  the  idea  of  a  single  advantage  being  yielded  to  the  adversary 
whom  he  felt  so  confident  of  overthrowing  in  the  end. 

"  Why  does  not  Miss  Carlisle  refer  him  at  once  to  you  or  to 
me  ?  "  he  asked,  when  Basil  had  explained  all  he  knew  of  the 
matter.  "  Does  she  not  know  that  it  is  the  right  thing  for  her — 
a  woman,  and  an  inexperienced  one — to  do  ?  " 

"  I  advised  her  to  do  so,"  Basil  answered ;  '^  but  she  is  in- 
clined to  see  him  herself — his  note  Iras  excited  her  interest  and 
her  curiosity." 

Champion's  dark  brows  knitted.  "  In  that  case  there  is  no 
telling  what  may  be  the  result,"  he  said.     "  When  a  woman's 


BASIL'S   VEXATION.  09 

interest  and  curiosity  are  excited,  any  degree  of  folly  may  be 
looked  for.     But  I  expected  better  things  of  Miss  Carlisle." 

Here  Rosalind  glanced  up  and  joined  in  the  conversation  for 
the  first  time  since  his  entrance.  Her  eyes  were  dazzling  un- 
der their  long  lashes,  her  cheeks  aglow  like  the  heart  of  a  pome- 
granate. Not  having  had  the  advantage  of  seeing  her  before  he 
came  in,  Champion,  of  course,  could  not  know  that  this  access  of 
brightness  was  in  honor  of  his  appearance. 

"  You  talk  as  if  Mary  had  not  a  right  to  do  as  she  pleases," 
she  said.  "Is  not  her  property  her  own  if  she  has  a  mind  to 
sacrifice  it — by  a  compromise,  or  in  any  other  way  ?  " 

"  Her  property  is  undoubtedly  her  own,"  Champion  answered, 
with  the  sternness  on  his  face  and  in  his  tone  deepening.  "  But 
Basil  and  mj'^self — who  have  both  of  us  worked  hard  in  her  in- 
terest— are  certainly  entitled  to  more  consideration  than  this 
Devereux." 

"  If  I  was  in  her  place,  I  should  insist  upon  seeing  '  this  Dev- 
ereux,' as  you  call  him,"  said  the  young  lad}^,  decidedly. 

"  Nobody  doubts  it,"  said  Lacy,  laughing.  "  What  woman 
can  resist  a  blond  beard  and  ixje  ne  sais  quoi  air  of  fashion  ?  " 

Hearing  this,  Champion's  face  grew,  if  possible,  darker,  and 
certainly  sterner,  than  before.  He  turned  to  Basil  and  began 
talking  business.  Not  once  again,  w^hile  they  remained  at  table, 
did  his  eyes  glance  toward  Rosalind's  lovely  face. 

Out  of  that  face  the  brilliant  color  began  to  ebb  by  slow  de- 
grees. Men  often  ask  why  women  like  so  well  to  torment  them 
— like  to  torment  even  those  whom  they  love.  It  would  be 
wiser  to  ask — if  there  were  any  voice  able  to  answer — why  they 
like  so  well  to  torment  themselves.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the 
pang  which  they  inflict  returns  upon  their  own  hearts  with  ten- 
fold bitterness  and  keenness ;  but  this  only  makes  the  matter 
more  absolutely  incomprehensible. 

"Basil  is  going  after  tea  to  see  Mr.  Devereux,"  said  Madeleine 
jiresently  to  Champion.     "  Do  you  think  of  going  with  him  ?  " 

"That  is  as  Basil  says,"  the  young  lawyer  answered.  "I 
will  go  if  he  thinks  it  worth  while." 


30  A.   QUESTION    OF   HONOR. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Basil  said.  "I  am  simply  going,  by 
Mary's  request,  to  see  Mr.  Dcveieux  and  tell  him  that  she  will 
receive  him  to-morrow.  The  visit  will  have  no  business  si^-nifi- 
canoe — unless  he  chooses  to  "ivc  it  one." 

"  Do  you  think  it  likely  he  will  choose  to  do  so  ? "  Lacy 
asked. 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  that  he  will,"  the  other  replied. 

This  ended  the  Devereux  subject  for  the  time,  and  soon  after 
the  party  rose  from  table.  When  they  reached  the  hall,  there 
was  a  slight  pause  of  irresolution.  On  one  side  was  the  drawing- 
room,  from  which  a  glow  of  shaded  gas-light  came.  In  front  the 
hall-door  stood  open  to  the  autumn  night.  A  moon  in  her  sec- 
ond quarter  w^as  shining  through  the  trees,  the  air  was  still  full 
of  softness,  and  the  blue  haze  had  turned  to  silver  mist.  "  It  is 
too  lovely  to  stay  in  the  house,"  said  Hosalind,  as  she  walked 
out  on  the  portico.  Basil,  on  his  part,  turned  to  go  up-stairs. 
"  I  will  change  my  dress  and  be  back  in  a  minute,"  he  said  to 
Champion.     "  If  you  are  going,  wait  for  me." 

Now,  Champion  had  not  said  that  he  was  going,  as  Made- 
leine reflected,  with  a  comment  on  masculine  stupidity.  "  Why 
should  you  think  that  Mr.  Cham23ion  is  going  to  leave  us  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  He  has  come  so  seldom  of  late,  that  I  hope  he  means 
to  remain,  now  that  he  is  here." 

"Thanks,  you  are  very  kind,"  Champion  answered  for  him- 
self, ''  but  I  have  business  w^hich  calls  me  away. — I'll  wait  till 
you  come  back,  however,"  he  added,  nodding  to  Basil. 

At  this,  Madeleine,  turning,  passed  into  the  drawing-room, 
whither  Lacy  immediately  followed  her.  Champion  hesitated  for 
a  moment.  He  did  not  usually  hesitate  even  over  so  slight  a 
thing  as  entering  a  room  ;  his  actions,  like  his  tones,  were  gener- 
ally decided  and  resolute  to  a  fault.  But  just  now  he  paused — 
inclination  drawing  him  in  one  direction,  pride  in  another.  He 
glanced  into  the  drawing-room.  By  a  table  covered  with  a  lit- 
ter of  books,  papers,  and  work,  Madeleine  and  Lacy  sat  down, 
and  the  pretty,  suggestive  picture  which  they  made,  seemed  to 
decide  him.     He  drew  his  brows  slightly  together  and  his  lips 


UNCONDITIOXAL  SURRENDER.  3X 

braced  themselves  as  he  walked  out  on  the  portico  where  Rosa- 
lind stood  in  the  faint  moonlio-ht. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

UNCONDITIOXAL   SUEEEXDEK. 

A  THEILL,  half  of  pleasure,  half  of  triumpli,  shot  through  her 
when  she  heard  his  step.  As  she  stood,  during  that  brief  collo- 
quy in  the  hall,  looking  at  the  dark,  motionless  trees,  the  tender, 
vaguely-defined  shadows,  she  felt  as  if  she  could  not  bear  it  if 
Champion  did  not  come.  But  when  he  came,  he  found  the  visor 
closed,  the  armor  tightened,  the  combatant  ready,  lance  in  hand. 

"Is  it  not  a  beautiful  night?"  she  said,  turning  to  him  as  he 
reached  her  side.  "  But  I  forget — I  believe  you  do  not  admire 
Nature  very  much.     Gordon  should  have  come  in  your  place." 

"  Shall  I  go  and  send  him  ? "  Champion  asked  in  his  cold 
voice — it  was  a  voice  which  Rosalind  knew  well,  and  against 
which  she  had  often  rebelled,  yet  which  possessed  a  singular 
fascination  for  her. 

"  He  would  thank  neither  of  us  for  calling  him  just  now," 
she  answered,  with  her  soft  laugh.  "  I  don't  think  the  moon- 
light has  any  great  attraction  for  him  ;  at  least  no  such  attrac- 
tion as  Madeleine,  who  is  afraid  of  the  night  air." 

"  Do  you  think  that  it  is  prudent  for  you  to  be  here  ?  "  the 
gentleman  asked,  with  a  recollection  of  health  which  lovers  do 
not  always  display.  "  Let  me  get  you  a  wrap.  Shall  I  find  one 
in  the  hall  ?  " 

"  My  shawl  is  there,  I  think,"  answered  Rosalind,  with  more 
docility  than  she  usually  showed.  She  had  an  object  in  view 
which  this  docility  was  intended  to  secure.  That  object  was  to 
keep  Champion  from  going  away  with  Basil,  whom  she  expected 
to  see  every  minute.  When  he  brought  the  shawl — light,  white, 
soft,  and  very  efi"ective  as  drapery — she  made  him  wrap  it  round 
her,  then  she  sat  down  in  the  chair  which  Madeleine  had  ocou- 


32  A   QUESTIOX   OF   HONOR. 

pied  in  the  afternoon,  and  made  a  gracious  motion  of  invitation 
toward  the  other  one  standing  near. 

This,  however.  Champion  declined.  "  It  is  not  worth  while," 
he  said.  "  Basil  will  be  down  in  a  minute,  and  I  must  go.  I  only 
came  out  to  ask  how  you  have  been  since  I  saw  you  last  ?  " 

"  That  was  so  long  ago  that  I  have  had  time  to  enjoy  a  great 
many  different  states  of  health  in  the  interval,"  she  answered ; 
*'  to  be  w^ell,  and  ill,  and  well  again,  to  be  in  good  spirits,  bad 
spirits,  and  indifferent  spirits — all  without  any  sign  of  interest 
in  my  condition  from  you.'''' 

Thus  abruptly  arraigned — for  a  woman  can  generally  be 
trusted  to  know^  when  and  how  to  carry  the  war  into  Africa  with 
most  advantage  to  herself  and  confusion  to  her  adversary — 
Champion  could  not  forbear  a  smile.  As  he  looked  at  the  win- 
some face  upturned  in  the  moonlight,  he  felt  that  all  the  fairness 
and  sweetness  of  life  lay  for  him  in  it ;  but  he  had  no  intention 
of  saying  so.     On  the  contrary,  he  answered  quite  coolly : 

*'  I  thought  you  showed  me  very  plainly,  when  I  saw  you  last, 
tliat  any  interest  which  I  might  express  was  more  likely  to  an- 
noy than  to  please  you." 

*'  Did  I  ?  "  said  Rosalind,  naivelv.  "  But  that  was  so  Ion  a; 
asTO — six  weeks  at  least.  You  ouo^ht  to  know  me  better  than 
to  fancy  that  I  would  be  of  one  mind  for  such  a  length  of  time. 
Then,  you  should  not  bear  malice ;  and  what  is  it  but  bearing 
malice  to  have  staid  away  for  six  weeks  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  was  prudence,"  said  her  companion.  "  I  never 
had  any  sympathy  with  moths — especially  with  one  that,  having 
been  singed,  deliberately  went  back  to  the  flame." 

"  But  you  are  not  a  moth,  and  I  am  not  a  flame,"  said  Rosa- 
lind. "  You  are  only  a  person  w^ho  has  behaved  very  badly,  and 
borne  malice  in  the  most  inexcusable  manner." 

"  What  an  excellent  character  you  give  me  !  "  said  he,  smiling 
again.  But  the  smile  left  his  face  as  he  went  on — surprising  her 
by  quoting  two  lines  of  verse,  for  poetry  was  not  much  in  his  way 

"  *  You  throw  oflf  your  friends  like  a  huntsman  his  pack, 
For  you  know  when  you  will  you  can  whistle  them  back,' " 


UNCOXDITIOXAL   SURREXDER.  33 

he  said,  gravely.  "  But  you  may  throw  one  of  them  off  once  too 
often.  I  don't  know  that  you  would  care  if  you  did  so — I  don't 
know  that  you  might  not  consider  it  a  happy  relief — but,  all  the 
same,  the  day  may  come  before  long  when  3'OU  will  find  that 
even  your  whistle  can  fall  on  deaf  ears." 

"  I  am  stupid,  I  suppose,"  said  Rosalind,  "  but  I  don't  under- 
stand in  the  least  what  you  mean,  probably  because  your  met- 
aphors are  rather  mixed." 

"  I  mean,"  he  answered,  "  that  if  I  have  little  of  the  moth,  I 
have  still  less  of  the  dog  in  my  disposition.  You  have  whistled 
me  back  into  your  serWce  several  times  already,  but  I  am  fully 
resolved  that,  if  I  allow  you  to  do  so  again,  it  shall  be  for  the 
last  time." 

"  The  last  time  !  "  repeated  she,  and,  although  there  was  a 
tightening  at  her  heart,  she  smiled  with  bright  defiance.  "  One 
hears  of  so  many  '  last  times,'  that  the  words  have  come  to  pos- 
sess rery  little  significance.  Indeed,  I  have  grown  to  doubt 
whether  there  really  is  such  a  thing  as  an  undoubted  '  last 
time.' " 

"  Yes,  there  is  such  a  thing,"  said  Champion,  the  gravity 
of  his  voice  making  a  great  contrast  to  her  light,  flippant  tones. 
"Have  you  never  stood  by  the  coffin  of  one  who  was  dead,  and, 
looking  at  the  face  before  the  lid  was  closed,  thought  to  your- 
self, '  It  is  for  the  last  time  ?  '  Yes  " — his  voice  softening  as  he 
saw  her  lip  suddenly  quiver — "  I  know  that  you  have  done  so. 
There  may  be  doubt  about  other  partings  of  earth,  but  we  know 
that  is  the  last.  AYell,  if  I  saw  you  dead  before  me,  I  could  not 
know  more  certainly  than  I  do  that  we  shall  part  forever  if  we 
need  to  part  again.  I  have  tested  my  resolution  too  often  not 
to  feel  that  I  can  rely  upon  it." 

"  Vf  hy  do  you  talk  to  me  like  this  ?  "  said  she.  "  What  have 
I  done  ? "  Her  voice  was  low,  and  trembled  slightly ;  her 
weapons  of  coquetry  seemed  suddenly  stricken  from  her  com- 
mand. She  felt  bewildered.  Did  he  mean  that  this  inexorable 
parting  was  to  take  place  now  ?  If  so,  she  knew  him  too  well 
to  hope  that  he  could  be  moved  by  any  words  of  hers.     An  in- 


34  A  QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

stinct  ciimc  to  her  that  she  had  gone  too  far.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  realization,  for  she  liked  this  self-controlled  lover  of 
hers,  she  liked  to  see  resolution  deepening  on  his  face,  and  to 
hear  the  thrill  of  repressed  passion  in  his  voice.  But  it  was 
very  much  as  a  child  likes  to  play  with  fire,  or  as  almost  any 
woman  likes  the  sense  of  power,  in  the  first  instance ;  and  of  pos- 
sible (not  accomplished)  subjection,  in  the  second. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  repeated  Champion.  "  Nothing 
for  which  I  blame  you ;  nothing  that  it  was  not  the  instinct  of 
your  nature  to  do.  I  am  sure  you  do  not  blame  Mufi"  when  she 
plays  with  a  mouse  in  its  death-agony.  Neither  do  I  blame  you 
that  you  should  have  amused  yourself  by  making  a  fool  of  me. 
The  man  who  fills  such  a  position,"  said  he,  with  a  chord  of  con- 
tempt in  his  voice,  "deserves  no  sympathy  from  himself  or 
others." 

"  You  are  very  unjust,  and — and  unkind ! "  said  Eosalind, 
divided  between  indignation  and  an  inclination  to  cry.  *'  I  never 
knew  you  so  unkind  before.  One  would  think  that  I  had  done 
you  some  great  injury,  and  yet  you  control  yourself  so  well  " — 
a  note  of  sarcasm  came  in  here — "  that  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult to  compass  if  I  had  ever  so  much  of  a  mind  that  way." 

"  Thank  God  that  I  can  control  myself,"  said  he,  almost  pas- 
sionately, "  else  what  you  would  have  made  of  me  by  this  time 
I  cannot  tell." 

"  What  should  I  have  made  of  you  ?  "  asked  she.  "  You 
seem  in  a  mood  for  reproaches  ;  but  I  think  that,  in  common 
justice,  you  might  tell  me  what  they  are  about." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  have  seemed  to  reproach  you,"  said 
he.  "  I  have  no  right  to  do  so.  I  did  not  intend  to  speak  of  the 
matter  at  all  to-night,  but  since  I  have  begun  " — he  paused  for  a 
moment,  then  went  on  abruptly :  "  I  am  resolved  that  my  folly 
shall  end,  one  way  or  another.  This  has  gone  on  long  enough. 
No  woman  shall  make  a  wreck  of  my  life  ;  nor,  if  I  can  help  it, 
of  my  happiness.  You  have  whistled  me  back  again,  Rosalind, 
but,  as  I  told  you  a  minute  ago,  it  is  for  the  last  time.  You 
must  decide  now  what  you  mean  to  do  with  me." 


UNCONDITIOXAL   SURRENDER.  35 

**  I  have  no  desire  to  do  any  thing  at  all  with  3'ou,"  said 
Rosalind,  thinking  that  perhaps  the  best  thing  would  be  to  yield 
to  her  inclination  to  cry.  "  Upon  my  word,  I  think  you  are  voy 
unreasonable." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  he,  finding  it  impossible  not  to  smile 
at  the  reproachful  face  uplifted  to  him.  *'  But  I  fear  that  I  must 
remain  unreasonable,  for  on  this  point  my  decision  is  taken.  I 
would  not  force  you  to  marry  me,  if  I  could  ;  but  you  must  tell 
me,  once  for  all,  w'hether  or  not  you  intend  to  do  so.  You  know 
how  I  love  you.  It  would  be  late  in  the  day  to  assure  you  of 
that.  No  man  on  God's  earth  ever  loved  a  woman  better.  It 
seems  to  me  that  this  love  is  the  very  essence  of  my  life.  But 
it  is  not  my  master,"  said  he,  with  the  resolute  look  deej^ening 
on  his  strong  face  ;  "  and  if  you  have  no  need  for  it,  Rosalind — 
if  you  do  not  intend  ever  to  accept  it — I  am  determined  that  it 
shall  trouble  you  no  longer." 

The  clear,  decided  tones  ceased,  and  silence  followed  them. 
Rosalind  turned  away  from  him  and  looked  at  the  lawn  dappled 
with  faint  shadows,  and  the  trees  darkly  drooping  over  tlie  street 
beyond.  Yet  it  is  safe  to  say  that  she  saw  not  a  feature  of  the 
scene.  Her  mind  was  distracted,  her  heart  seemed  beating  in 
her  throat.  AYliat  was  she  to  do  ?  what  should  she  sa}"?  If  her 
life  had  depended  on  it,  she  could  not  have  told  whether  or  not 
she  loved  James  Champion,  and  she  was  neither  old  enough  nor 
experienced  enough  to  argue  to  the  contrary  from  her  very  doubt. 
She  only  felt  that  just  then  she  did  not  want  to  give  him  up, 
and  the  danger  was  imminent  that  she  might  be  obliged  to  do 
so  whether  she  vrould  or  not.  Nobody  who  knew  Champion  ever 
doubted  that,  as  far  as  rested  with  himself,  his  resolutions  were 
always  inflexibly  carried  into  execution ;  and  the  words  still 
rang  in  her  ears :  "  If  I  saw  you  dead  before  me,  I  could  not 
know  more  certainly  than  I  do  that  we  shall  part  forever  if  we 
need  to  part  again." 

The  pause  lasted  for  some  time.  Neither  seemed  inclined  to 
speak.  Champion  was  too  proud  to  do  so,  Rosalind's  conflicting 
doubts  made  her  more  and  more  uncertain  what  to  sav.     With 


36  A  QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

the  odd  sensation  wliicli  comes  at  such  times,  both  were  distinctly 
conscious  of  all  that  was  going  on  around,  even  while  they  were 
absorbed  in  the  issue  between  them.  A  katydid — the  last  of 
the  season — w^as  chirping  a  melancholy  farewell  to  summer 
sweetness  and  summer  warmth  in  one  of  the  tall  oak-trees  ;  Made- 
leine's laugh  floated  out  from  tlie  drawing-room ;  Mrs.  Severn 
spoke  to  a  servant  in  the  hall ;  Lance  walked  lazily  across  the 
portico,  turned  round  half  a  dozen  times,  and  finally  lay  down  on 
his  large  mat ;  Basil's  step  suddenly  sounded  on  the  staircase. 

This  last  sound  cfiectually  roused  them.  They  started  and 
looked  at  each  other. 

"Have  you  no  word  for  me?"  Champion  asked,  quickly. 
"  Basil  is  coming,  I  must  go." 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you  ?  "  answered  Rosalind,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  How  can  you  expect  one  to  decide  in  a  moment  when  it  is  for 
one's  life  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  had  years  in  which  to  know  me  ? "  de- 
manded Champion,  who,  being  perfectly  well  acquainted  with 
his  own  mind,  was  not  able  to  conceive  ho"\v  Rosalind  could 
fail  to  know  hers.  "  If  you  need  to  hesitate  now,  it  must  be 
that  there  is  no  hope  for  me.  It  is  fortunate  for  me  that  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  that  fact  some  time  ago." 

"  Cham^^iou  ! — are  you  here  ?  "  said  Basil,  emerging  from  the 
house.  "  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting  so  long.  But  I 
thought  it  might  be  worth  while  to  pay  Mr.  Devereux  the  com- 
pliment of  looking  like  a  gentleman.     Are  you  ready  now  ?  " 

*'  Don't  go ! "  said  Rosalind,  in  a  whisper  so  low  that  it  was 
remarkable  how  her  listener  heard  it.  The  breath  scarcely  issued 
from  her  lips.     Basil  had  no  suspicion  that  she  had  spoken. 

''  Well,  are  you  coming  ? "  he  said,  a  little  surprised  that 
Champion  had  not  answered  him. 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me,  I  believe  not,"  that  gentleman  replied, 
quietly,  out  of  the  shadow  where  he  stood.  "  You  have  waited 
too  lonof.     If  vou  had  come  ten  minutes  earlier,  I  should  have 

CD  »/  ' 

felt  inclined  to  go  with  you.     Now  I  feel  inclined  to  stay  here." 
"  Just  as  you  please,"  said  Severn,  obligingly.     "  Since  you 


•      UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER.  37 

think  of  staying,  you  had  better  wait  till  I  come  back,  and  I'll 
be  able  to  tell  you  what  Mr.  Devereux  has  to  say  for  himself." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  other,  briefly. 

Nothing  more  was  said'.  Basil  passed  down  the  steps,  along 
the  walk,  and  out  of  the  gate.  It  was  not  until  the  last  echo  of 
his  footsteps  died  away,  that  Champion  spoke.  No  one  who 
had  heard  him  speak  ten  minutes  before  would  have  recognized 
his  voice  now,  so  much  had  it  softened,  so  entirely  had  it 
changed. 

"  Rosalind,"  he  said,  "  do  you  mean  that  there  is  hope  for 
me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Rosalind,  who  had  regained  her 
usual  manner.  "  This  is  too  important  a  matter  to  be  settled 
all  in  a  moment.     Sit  down  :  let  us  discuss  it." 

She  pointed  again  to  the  vacant  chair  beside  her,  and  this 
time  Champion  did  not  refuse  to  obey  the  gesture.  He  sat 
down,  though  he  had  a  vague  sense  of  surrendering  an  advan- 
tage as  he  did  so,  and  the  yoimg  lady  went  on  without  giving 
him  time  to  speak  : 

"  Do  you  know  that  marriage  is  a  very  serious  tiling  ?  " 

"  I  believe  nobody  doubts  it,"  he  answered.  "  Least  of  all 
those  who  have  tried  it." 

"  Such  a  very  serious  thing  that  it  would  not  be  well  to  be 
frightened  into  it,"  she  continued,  gravely.  "  I  djo  not  mean 
that  you  have  any  intention  of  frightening  me,"  she  added, 
quickly,  as  even  in  the  moonlight  she  saw  his  lips  compress 
themselves  in  a  fashion  she  knew  well,  "  but  that  I  must  be  quite 
sure  I  do  not  consent  to  marry  you  because  I  am  afraid  of  you." 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  "  asked  he,  not  angrily,  but  wistfulh% 

"  Yes,"  answered  she,  frankly.  "  Who  is  not  ?  Everybody 
stands  more  or  less  in  awe  of  you ;  and  yet,"  added  she,  with 
a  sudden,  upward  look,  "  everybody  likes  you." 

*'  Do  i/ou  f "  said  he,  stung  and  yet  soothed,  hurt  and  yet 
pleased,  in  a  manner  which  was  not  new  to  him. 

"  I !  "  answered  she,  smilino^.  "  Do  vou  not  know  that  I 
do?     I  like  you  very  much  :  I  have  liked  you  always." 


38  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

"  But  that  is  little,"  said  he,  with  a  strain  of  sudden  passion 
in  liis  voice.  "In  comparison  with  what  I  want,  indeed,  it  ia 
nothing"  at  all.     Do  you  love  me,  Kosalind?" 

His  tone  thrilled  her,  but  still  she  hesitated.  Did  she  love 
him  ?  That  was  the  point ;  that  was  the  question  Avhicli,  try  as 
she  would,  Rosalind  could  not  answer  to  herself.  How,  then, 
Avas  it  possible  for  her  to  answer  it  to  him  ?  Again  she  looked 
away,  undecided,  in  doubt,  yet  impatient  with  herself  and  her 
own  irresolution.  As  was  natural  enough,  Cham2')ion  misunder- 
stood her  silence.  He  rose  abruptly,  pushing  back  his  chair  on 
the  stone  flags  with  a  grating  sound  which  made  her  start. 

"  I  see  that  I  must  end  this,"  he  said.  "  It  is  asking  too 
much  to  expect  you  to  do  so.  Muff  never  yet  released  a  mouse 
of  her  own  accord,  but  it  sometimes  rests  with  the  mouse  him- 
self to  escape.     Good-night." 

He  stood  before  her  with  his  hand  extended,  tall,  stern,  stately. 
As  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  heart  gave  a  bound.  Did  she  love 
him  ?  She  did  not  ask  the  question  then.  She  only  felt  that 
this  was  her  last  chance ;  that  if  he  left  her  now,  he  would  never 
come  back,  and  that  she  could  not  bear  to  lose  him.  Vanit}",  lik- 
ing, the  desire  of  conquest,  the  subtile  thrill  of  half-awakened  sen- 
timent— who  can  say  in  what  degree  all  these  were  mingled  when 
she  spoke,  low  but  quickly : 

"  Why  are  you  so  impatient  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  I  hesi- 
tate only  because  I  want  to  be  sure  of  myself?  That  is  not  as 
easy  as  you  think  ;  but  if — if  you  insist  upon  an  answer  now,  and 
if  you  will  take  me  just  as  I  am,  with  all  my  faults — " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  not  uttered — at  least  not  audi- 
bly. The  next  instant  Champion  had  drawn  the  slender  figure 
to  his  heart,  and  kissed  passionately  the  sweet  lips.  Often  dur 
ing  his  long  wooing,  even  when  hope  had  most  nearly  failed 
him,  he  had  dreamed  of  this  hour,  yet,  now  that  it  had  come,  he 
was  scarcely  able  to  realize  it.  He  only  felt  that  she  was  his  at 
last,  and  that,  let  her  cost  him  what  she  would,  he  could  never 
be  sorry  for  the  victory. 


"THE   CLAIMANT."  39 


CHAPTER    V 


"the    CLAIilAXT." 


As  Basil  walked  down  the  street,  enjoying  tbe  balmy  air, 
smoking  the  good  cigar,  which  was  one  of  the  few  personal  lux- 
uries he  allowed  himself,  and  leaving  Rosalind  and  Champion  to 
finish  their  flirtation  at  their  leisui-e,  his  mind  was  busy  with 
thoughts  of  the  man  whom  he  was  going  to  meet,  and  of  the 
annoyance  which  for  two  years  that  man's  name  had  embodied 
to  every  one  connected  with  Mr.  Carlisle's  estate. 

It  was  an  annoyance  which  had  not  seemed  decreasing  wlien 
this  unexpected  visitor  arrived  in  Stansbury.  From  court  to 
court  the  suit  had  been  carried,  wLich  was  instituted  in  Dev- 
ereux^s  name  soon  after  Mr.  Carlisle's  death  ;  but,  according  to 
the  tedious  processes  of  the  law,  its  end  did  not  seem  much 
nearer  than  it  had  done  in  the  beginning.  Only  Champion  ap- 
peared to  see  daylight  ahead ;  only  he  held  out  firmly  against 
such  an  idea  as  compromise,  and  advised  Basil  to  fight  the  claim 
to  the  last  extremity.  To  this  advice  Basil  was  readj-  enough 
to  hearken,  and  Mary  Carlisle  left  the  matter  entirely  to  her  two 
advisers — advisers  whom  she  knew  to  be  thoroughly  honest,  and 
doggedly  faithful  to  her  interests. 

How  much  her  interests  were  imperiled,  these  advisers  did 
not  like  to  acknowledge  ;  but  everybody  in  Stansbury  knew  that 
the  Devereux  claim  was  a  very  heavy  one.  The  most  valuable 
property  of  the  Carlisle  estate — broad  acres  and  flourishing  mills 
— was  involved  in  the  litigation.  Mr.  Carlisle  had  bought  this 
property  in  good  faith,  and  paid  its  full  value  ;  yet  it  now  ap- 
peared, or  was  alleged,  that  the  title  made  to  him  was  not  good, 
inasmuch  as  the  property  had  been  held,  not  in  fee-simple,  but 
under  a  lease.  This  announcement  had  burst  like  a  bomb  shell 
upon  his  executor  after  his  death.  The  lease,  however,  was  old, 
nad  never  been  registered,  and  afi"orded  every  loop-hole  for  dis^ 
pute.     The  result  was  a  lawsuit — James  Champion  on  one  side, 


40  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

the  lawyer  who  had  ferreted  out  the  matter  on  the  other ;  Ar- 
nold Devereux  and  Mary  Carlisle  the  persons  interested. 

Of  Arnold  Devereux,  the  Stansbury  people  knew  little.  He 
came  from  another  State,  thouii-h  his  mother  had  been  a  Stans- 
bury  belle  and  beauty  in  her  day.  It  was  through  this  mother 
that  he  laid  claim  to  the  property,  leased  by  her  father  fifty  years 
before.  AVhy  he  had  come  to  Stansbury  now,  no  one  could  say  ; 
but  conjecture  w^as  rife.  Did  he  think  of  compromise  ?  was  he 
simply  curious  to  see  the  blind  young  heiress  ?  or  had  that  idea 
of  uniting  their  interests  occurred  to  him  which  Rosalind  Severn 
suggested  ?  Though  he  had  never  been  in  Stansbury  before, 
the  people  of  that  flourishing  town  occasionally  went  abroad, 
and  his  fame  had  preceded  him — the  fame  of  one  who  had 
achieved  an  unusual  social  rej^utation,  who  was  a  sybarite,  a 
lady-killer,  and  a  thorough  man  of  the  world. 

Basil  knew  all  this,  and  in  his  own  mind  added  the  epithet 
"fortune-hunter"  to  those  more  complimentary  ones  recorded 
above.  He  was  not  usually  guilty  of  such  rash  judgment ;  but 
he  could  not  help  feeling  sorely  disturbed  by  this  man's  appear- 
ance. He  was  scarcely  conscious  of  a  greater  sense  of  respon- 
sibility with  regard  to  his  own  sisters  than  he  felt  for  Mary 
Carlisle.  Her  blindness,  her  helplessness,  the  trust  which  had 
been  placed  in  his  hands  by  her  father,  all  conspired  to  make 
such  a  feeling  unusually  strong.  She  was  to  him  hedged  round 
with  sacredness,  and  her  cause  was  nearer  his  heart  than  if  it 
had  been  his  own.  To  entertain  such  an  idea  as  that  which 
Rosalind  had  hinted,  seemed  to  him  monstrous ;  yet,  despite 
himself,  he  found  it  intruding  on  his  mind. 

Pondering  these  things,  he  walked  into  the '  hotel  in  a  fai 
from  charitable  frame  of  mind,  and  sent  up  his  card  to  Mr.  Dev- 
ereux. The  messenger  returned  immediately,  charged  to  show 
him  to  that  gentleman's  presence,  and  a  minute  later  ushered 
him  into  the  room  where  he  sat. 

It  was  a  large,  comfortable  room,  filled  with  an  odor  of  cigai 
smoke.  From  the  edge  of  the  mantel-piece  the  red  eye  of  a  hali 
consumed  Havana  glowed.     Basil  noted  these  things,  as  a  fair. 


"THE   CLAIMAXT."  41 

handsome  man,  with  remarkable  distinction  of  manner  and  grace 
of  bearing,  rose,  and,  pushing  back  a  table  on  which  lay  news- 
papers and  writing-materials,  came  forward. 

"  I  am  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Severn,"  he 
said,  in  a  frank,  musical  voice,  "  and  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  giv- 
ing me  the  opportunity  of  making  it  in  this  manner.  Pray  sit 
down." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Basil,  with  a  stiffness  of  manner  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  other's  ease,  but  declining,  by  a  motion  of  his 
hand,  the  proffered  civility.  "  I  have  called,  Mr.  Devereu::,"  he 
went  on,  in  a  tone  of  cold  formality,  standing  straight  and  sol- 
dier-like with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  "  merely  to  deliver  a  message 
from  Miss  Carlisle.  In  reply  to  your  note  of  this  morning,  she 
requests  me  to  say  that  she  will  receive  your  visit,  if  she  is  well 
enough  to  do  so,  to-morrow ;  but,  her  health  being  very  frail,  it 
is  always  a  matter  of  uncertainty  whether  she  will  be  able  to 
exert  herself  at  any  particular  time,  and  for  this  reason  she  can- 
not make  a  positive  engagement  to  see  you.  If  she  finds  her- 
self strong  enough  for  the  exertion  to-morrow,  she  will  let  you 
know." 

He  bowed  as  coldly  as  he  had  spoken,  and  turned  at  once  to 
go,  without  waiting  for  a  reply ;  but  Devereux,  who  had  of 
course  remained  standing  after  the  example  of  his  guest,  made  a 
quick  step  forward. 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Severn,  if  you  please,"  he  said.  "  May 
I  beg  you  to  sit  down  ?  I  should  like,  if  you  have  no  objection, 
to  discuss  the  business  which  interests  us  both,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  we  can  do  so  in  a  friendly  spirit." 

"  I  am  imable  to  perceive  any  good  end  which  can  be  gained 
by  such  a  discussion,"  said  Basil,  pausing.  Nevertheless,  he  sat 
down.  The  judicial  spirit  with  which  he  had  entered,  was  not 
disarmed,  but  he  could  not  fail  to  acknowledge  the  courtesy  of 
the  other's  manner.  It  was  a  manner  such  as  can  only  be  ac- 
quired by  a  long  and  intimate  association  with  the  world — easy, 
graceful,  Basil  might  almost  have  thought  winning,  if  he  had 
not  been  too  deeply  prejudiced  to  apply  such  a  terra.     As  lie  sat 


42  A   QUESTION    OF   HONOR. 

down,  bo  lookod  at  the  face  before  liim  more  crilicallj  than  lie 
had  done  yd,  A  broad  white  brow,  a  clear  decided  nose,  indo- 
lent gray  eyes,  and  an  abundance  of  blond  beard  and  mus- 
tache— these  points  principally  made  up  Mr.  Devereux's  counte- 
nance. Tlie  expression  was  somewhat  defective ;  sensible,  but 
not  intellectual,  with  a  certain  c2ebonnaire  carelessness  which 
the  grave  young  critic  did  not  much  ai)prove. 

After  Basil  sat  down,  Devereux  followed  his  example,  and 
then,  glancing  again  at  the  card  on  the  table,  he  said.  "Your 
name  is  very  familiar  to  me,  Mr.  Severn ;  you  are,  I  believe,  the 
executor  of  the  late  Mr.  Carlisle." 

"  And  the  business  agent  of  Miss  Carlisle,"  said  Basil,  quietly, 
yet  more  conscious,  perhaps,  at  that  moment  than  he  had  ever 
been  before  of  the  gentle  blood  in  his  veins. 

"  I  was  sure  I  had  not  mistaken  the  name,"  said  Devereux, 
attaching  very  little  importance  to  the  latter  statement.  He 
knew  a  gentleman  when  he  saw  him,  and  he  also  knew  the 
social  revolution  which  the  war  had  wrought  in  the  South,  the 
wide-spread  ruin  that  had  overtaken  the  class  to  which  Basil 
Severn  plainly  belonged.  "  My  name,  no  doubt,  is  familiar  to 
you,"  he  went  on.  *'  I  am  afraid  it  must  be  sj^nonymous  with  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  and  annoyance." 

"  A  lawsuit  is  certainly  not  particularly  agreeable,"  said 
Basil.     "  Sometimes,  how^ever,  it  is  unavoidable." 

"  Do  you  think  that  the  lawsuit  in  which  we  are  at  present 
enorao-ed  was  unavoidable  ?  "  asked  Devereux. 

Basil  threw  his  head  back.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  un- 
conscious defiance  in  the  action.  "  It  was  unavoidable  on  our 
side,"  he  replied,  with  emphasis. 

"  You  mean  that  it  might  have  been  avoided  on  mine  ? " 
said  the  other. 

"  That  is  your  own  affair  altogether,"  returned  the  young 
man,  coldly.  "  Of  course  it  follows  that  we  should  not  have 
needed  to  defend  our  interests  if  they  had  not  been  as- 
sailed." 

"  And  do  you  believe  that  they  were  unjustly  assailed  ? " 


"THE   CLAIMANT."  43 

asked  Devereux,  in  a  tone  wliicli  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  the 
entire  absence  of  any  thing  Hke  heat  in  it. 

Basil  looked  at  him  doubtfully — the  surprise  which  he  felt 
evident  in  his  glance.  "  That  is  a  question  which  you  can 
scarcely  expect  me  to  answer,  Mr.  Devereux,"  he  said.  "  That 
we  have  contested  your  claim  is  sufficient  proof  that  we  do  not 
believe  in  its  justice.  But  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  believe 
in  it." 

"  Then  you  do  me  the  honor  to  think  that  I  may  be  an  hon- 
est man  ?  "  said  Devereux,  with  a  slight  smile. 

The  smile  was  not  satirical- — only  amused — and  Basil  an- 
swered: "  I  should  be  very  prejudiced  if  I  did  not  think  so.  I 
have  no  right  to  pass  judgment  on  your  conduct,  and  an  argu- 
ment with  regard  to  the  justice  of  your  claim  would  be  of  little 
benefit  to  either  of  us.  I  have  done  my  best  for  the  interests 
committed  to  me.  You  have  probably  done  your  best  for  your 
own  interest.     It  would  not  be  fair  to  blame  you  for  that." 

"  Yes,  I  have  done  what  seemed  to  me  best  for  my  own  in- 
terest," said  Devereux,  "  and  I  certainly  feel  sm-e  that  my  claim 
is  just — else  it  would  not  have  been  made.  Nevertheless,  it 
has  lately  occurred  to  me  several  times  that,  if  judgment  is 
finally  given  in  my  favor,  it  will  be  hard  on  Miss  Carlisle." 

It  was  now  Severn's  turn  to  smile — a  little  grimly. 

"  Allow  me  to  suggest,"  said  he,  "  that  it  might  be  wise  to 
reserve  your  compassion  for  Miss  Carlisle  until  judgment  is 
given  in  your  favor." 

"  You  mean  that  you  think  it  will  not  be  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  T  am  sure  it  will  not  be." 

"  You  are  not  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Severn,"  said  the  other,  quietly. 
"  I  am — at  least,  I  ought  to  be.  I  studied  the  profession  once, 
and  I  tell  you  frankly  that  my  claim  will  triumph  in  the  end. 
Believe  me  or  not,  as  you  like.  No  doubt,  you  do  not  believe 
me.  Very  likely  you  think  me  a  scheming  intriguer,  bent  on 
compromise.  That  I  am  bent  on  compromise,  I  confess ;  but 
it  is  not  on  my  own  account,  but  on  Miss  Carlisle's.  Probably  "' 
—with  a  slight  shrug — "I  am  Quixotic;  but  the  idea  of  ousting 


44  A   QUESTIOX   OF   IIOXOR. 

a  woman  from  an  inheritance  which  she  considers  rightfully  her 
own,  is  very  distasteful  to  me." 

"  ^liss  Carlisle  would  be  indebted  to  you  for  3'our  considera- 
tion, if  she  was  aware  of  it,"  said  Basil,  haughtily.  The  calm 
conviction  and  cool  superiority  of  the  other  might  have  irked 
one  who  felt  the  matter  less  deeply  than  himself.  As  it  was, 
he  could  scarcely  tell  w^iether  he  "svas  most  scornful  or  indig- 
nant. That  this  stranger — this  claimant  W'ith  his  trumped-up 
story  of  an  old  lease — should  express  such  condescending  con- 
sideration for  Mary  Carlisle,  who  was  like  a  princess  in  her  own 
right,  seemed  to  Mary's  loyal  knight  an  absurdity  scarcely  short 
of  insolence. 

Devereux  caught  the  inflection  of  the  tone,  and  understood 
it  thoroughl}'-.  He  did  not  resent  it,  which  spoke  well  for  the 
reasonableness  of  his  disposition.  "  I  hope  that  when  Miss  Car- 
lisle understands  my  motives,  as  I  trust  to  make  them  clear  to 
her,  she  will  at  least  not  be  offended,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  It 
w^as  on  this  account  that  I  took  the  liberty  of  asking  for  a  per- 
sonal interview  with  her." 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me  when  I  say  that  I  think  your 
having  done  so  was  a  mistake,"  said  Basil,  stifflj^  "  Women 
generally  know  little  of  business,  and  Miss  Carlisle  knows,  if 
possible,  less  than  most  women.  Her  infirmity  and  her  ill- 
health  have  made  her  unusually  dependent  on  those  around 
her." 

"  I  hope  she  will  make  no  effort  to  see  me  until  she  is  quite 
able  to  do  so,"  said  Devereux.  "  I  have  no  intention  of  leaving 
Stansbury  soon,  and  I  shall  await  her  convenience  with  pleasure." 

"  Will  you  pardon  me,  if  I  ask  what  you  anticii^ate  from 
seeing  her  ?  "  said  Basil,  feeling  that,  since  this  discussion  had 
been  thrust  upon  him,  he  would  try  to  gain  some  idea  of  the 
motive  which  influenced  the  other. 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  tell  you,"  replied  Devereux,  "  that  I 
hope  to  induce  her  to  agree  to  a  compromise  of  the  claim  at 
issue  between  us.  I  have  every  reasonable  certainty  of  gaining 
the  lawsuit— for,  although  the  memorandum  of  lease  which  I 


"THE   CLAIMANT."  45 

hold  is  unregistered,  I  can  produce  a  witness  of  undoubted  ve- 
racitj,  who,  besides  personal  knowledge  of  the  matter,  will 
swear  positively  to  the  signatures  of  both  the  lessor  and  lessee ; 
therefore,  she  can  scarcely  think  that  my  motives  are  not  hon- 
est. Any  disinterested  lawyer  would  say  that  my  chance  of 
success  is  as  good  as  hers.     I  think  it  much  better." 

"  We  altogether  deny  the  authenticity  of  your  lease,"  said 
Basil,  bluntly  ;  "  and,  if  Miss  Carlisle  listens  to  my  advice,  and 
the  advice  of  her  lawyer,  she  will  not  entertain  the  idea  of 
compromise  for  a  moment." 

"  Very  likely  she  will  listen  to  you,"  said  Devereux,  "  and 
so  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  induce  you  to  think  of  what  I 
propose." 

"  You  will  never  induce  me  to  do  so,"  said  Basil.  "  I  tell 
you  frankly  that  your  words  are  wasted." 

"  Time  sometimes  works  wonders,"  replied  the  other,  smiling 
again — a  frank,  careless  smile  which  puzzled  and  irritated  Basil. 
He  felt  that  all  this  was  very  useless  ;  and  he  rose  with  a  good 
deal  of  defiant  haughtiness  in  his  manner. 

"  Whatever  wonders  time  may  work  in  other  respects,  it  is 
not  likely  to  change  my  opinion  on  this  point,"  he  said.  "  Mean- 
while, if  you  should  desire  to  see  Mr.  Champion  or  myself  while 
3-0U  remain  in  Stansbury,  we  are  easily  to  be  found." 

"  Mr.  Champion  is  your  lawyer,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  Basil.  "  Now,  let  me  thank  you  for  your 
courteous  reception,  Mr.  Devereux,  and  bid  you  good-night.  If 
I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,  I  hope  you  will  not  hesitate  to 
call  upon  me." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Devereux.  "  If  there  is  any  need 
to  do  so,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  accept  your  good  offices." 

With  this,  they  shook  hands  and  parted,  Basil  carrying  away 
with  him  an  uncomfortable  sense  of  having  been  worsted  in. a 
fair  game  of  skill. 

This  sensation  bore  him  company  as  he  passed  along  the 
moonlit  streets  in  the  direction  of  his  home.  What  knowledge 
had  he  gained  by  his  visit  ?     Devereux  had  avowed  that  it  was 


3 


46  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

out  of  coiisidenition  for  Marj  Carlisle,  and  because  lie  desired  to 
make  a  comj^romise,  that  he  was  in  Stansburj  ;  but  beyond  tbis, 
Basil  felt  that  all  was  enveloped  in  doubt.  A  disagreeable  sense 
of  misgiving  weighed  upon  him.  "  I  distrust  the  man  utterly  ! " 
lie  said,  more  than  once,  half-aloud.  Just  then,  he  would  have 
staked  his  life  that  Devereux  was  a  schemer  and  a  fortune-hunter. 
"  He  think  of  Mary  Carlisle,  indeed  !  "  reflected  the  young  man, 
scornfully.  "  It  is  of  himsel  f  that  he  is  thinking,  though  he 
hopes,  no  doubt,  to  blind  her  by  an  assumption  of  Quixotic  gen- 
erosity so  transparent  that  a  child  might  see  through  it.  He 
may  succeed — Heaven  only  knows !  Women  are  easily  influ- 
enced by  a  plausible  tongue.  But  there  is  nothing  that  I  would 
not  do  to  save  Mary.  The  question  is,  what  to  do  ?  Perhaps 
Madeleine  may  be  able  to  tell." 

By  the  time  his  thoughts  had  reached  this  point,  he  found 
himself  at  his  own  gate  and  face  to  face  with  Miss  Severn,  who 
was  standing  there  alone. 

"Madeleine! — is  it  you?"  said  the  young  man,  starting. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here,  all  by  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  walked  down  with  Gordon,  who  left  a  few  minutes  ago," 
she  answered,  "  and  it  seemed  a  pity  to  go  back  and  disturb 
Rosalind  and  Mr.  Champion's  ttte-d-tete.  I  fancy  they  have  set- 
tled matters  at  last." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Basil,  indifferently.  Champi- 
on's suit  had  been  on  the  tajns  so  long,  that  it  had  ceased  to 
excite  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  the  family  mind.  "  There  is  no 
telling ;  Rosalind  is  an  arrant  coquette.  But  I  am  glad  to  find 
you  here,  for  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  of  importance." 

"  Let  us  walk  toward  the  garden,  then,"  said  she,  slipping 
her  hand  in  his  arm. 

Toward  the  garden  they  walked,  therefore,  and,  after  a  min- 
ute had  passed  in  silence,  Madeleine  spoke  again.  "  It  is  about 
Mr.  Devereux,  is  it  not  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so 
worried." 

"  Yes,  it  is  about  Mr.  Devereux,"  he  answered,  "  and  if  I  am 
worried,  it  is  only  because  I  think  of  Mar}-,  and  because  I  fear 


"THE   CLAIMANT."  47 

sne  may  let  this  man  influence  her  ;  that  is,  if  she  receives  him. 
But  I  rely  upon  you,  Madeleine,  to  keep  her  from  receiving  him. 
Your  opinion  has  more  weight  with  her  than  that  of  any  one  else." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Madeleine ;  "  but,  even  if  it 
were  so,  I  should  scarcely  like  to  urge  it  upon  her  in  a  matter 
of  this  kind.  Mary  has  a  great  deal  of  sense — so  much,  that 
even  a  clever  man  of  the  world  might  find  it  difficult  to  influence 
her." 

Basil  shook  his  head.  "  You  don't  know  how  easily  even 
the  most  sensible  woman  is  hoodwinked  by  a  clever  man  of  the 
world,"  he  said.  "  I  thoroughly  distrust  this  Devereux,"  he 
added,  feeling  reluctant  to  express  more  clearly  why  he  dis- 
trusted him. 

But  Madeleine  was  one  of  those  rare  people  with  whom  in- 
stinct mio'ht  almost  be  said  to  do  a  way  with  all  need  of  Ian- 
guage,  besides  which,  she  knew  Basil  thoroughly,  and  she  un- 
derstood at  once  what  he  meant.  "  Take  care  !  "  said  she, 
pressing  her  hand  lightly  on  his  arm,  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 
"  Don't  judge  rashly.  Prejudice  is  foolish  as  well  as  wrong. 
Mr.  Devereux  may  have  no  such  idea  as  this  which  you  fear — 
but,  if  he  has,  Mary  is  not  the  woman  to  fall  into  the  snare  of  a 
fortune-hunter." 

"  Not  of  an  ordinary  fortune-hunter,  perhaps,"  said  Basil,  in 
a  tone  which  showed  how  much  he  chafed  against  the  discus- 
sion of  such  a  subject.  "But  this  man  is  not  ordinary.  In  the 
first  place,  he  is  very  good-looking — " 

"  But  if  he  were  an  AjdoIIo,  his  looks  could  not  afi'ect  poor 
Mary,"  interposed  Madeleine,  smiling. 

"  I  am  not  certain  of  that,"  said  Basil,  with  rather  an  ob- 
stinate air,  "  but  I  was  going  on  to  add  that  he  has  an  exceed- 
ingly plausible  manner — that  appearance  of  frankness  and  ease 
which  is  so  attractive  and  deceptive.  Altogether,"  said  the 
young  man,  with  an  accent  of  disgust,  "  I  find  myself  thinking 
more  than  I  like  of  Rosalind's  apparently  foolish  suggestion." 

"  Do  you  think  so  badly  of  the  man  as  to  suppose  that  he 
has  deliberately  come  here  for  that  f  "  asked  Madeleine. 


48  A   QUESTION   OF  UONOR. 

*'  I  don't  want  to  do  liim  injustice,"  answered  Basil.  "  As  you 
say,  prejudice  is  foolish  as  well  as  wrong — but  his  own  manner 
inclined  me  to  think  so.  Now,  Madeleine,  thank  God,  I  am  not 
afraid  of  any  misconstruction  from  you ;  that  there  is  no  danger 
of  your  suspecting  for  a  moment  that  I  have  any  thought  of  self- 
interest  in  desiring  to  keep  him  away  from  Mary.  But  you  see 
how  the  matter  stands  :  her  isolated  life  and  her  affliction  make 
her  peculiarly  likely  to  be  attracted  by  a  man  of  this  descrip- 
tion, a  man  who  professes  to  be  thinking  chiefly  of  her,  and  I — 
who  can  never  forget  either  her  own  or  her  father's  kindness  to 
me — would  rather  see  her  dead  than  married  to  an  adventurer 
who  thought  only  of  her  money." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Of  course,  I  cannot  pre- 
tend to  decide  whether  or  not  your  fears  are  well-grounded — 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  we  might  trust  Mary  even  with  the 
most  plausible  adventurer  in  the  world — but  you  cannot  fear 
any  misconception  from  me,  Basil.  Only  I  warn  you,  dear,  that 
if  it  should  be  said  that  you  and  I  made  any  effort  to  keep 
this  man  from  Mary  Carlisle,  there  are  many  people  who  would 
be  ready  to  believe  that  we  did  so  from  self-interest." 

"  Let  them  believe  it !  "  said  Basil.  "  What  is  one's  sense 
of  duty  worth  if  one  does  not  act  up  to  it  in  spite  of  the  world's 
opinion  ?  I  have  never  yet  stopped  to  consider  what  men  would 
say  of  me  if  it  was  right  to  do  a  thing,  and  I  shall  not  hesitate 
now.     Neither  will  you,  I  am  sure." 

"No,"  said  Madeleine.  She  spoke  quietly,  but  about  the 
delicate  lips  there  was  a  resolute  look,  in  the  soft  eyes  a  light 
steady  enough  to  face  martyrdom.  "  Only  tell  me  what  you 
want  done,"  she  added,  "  and  I  will  try  to  help  you." 

"  I  want  you  to  keep  Mary  from  receiving  this  man,"  said 
Basil,  with  emphasis.  "  I  think  she  will  heed  j^our  advice,  and 
you  must  advise  her  strongly  to  refer  him   to  Champion  or  to 


me." 


"  And  if  she  does  not  heed  my  advice  ?  " 
"  Then  matters  must  take  their  course.     I  am  resolved  upon 
one  thing,  however — if  she  plays  into  his  hand  and  makes  a 


"THE  CLAIMANT."  49 

compromise  of  her  interest,  iu  absolute  disregard  of  my  opin- 
ion and  Champion's  opinion,  I  shall  give  up  the  business ! " 

"  Basil,  that  is  not  like  you,"  said  Madeleine.  "  You  have 
cause  to  be  vexed,  but  you  do  not  mean  what  you  say^  when 
you  talk  of  giving  up  the  business.  What  would  become  of 
it  without  you,  and  what  would  have  become  of  you  but  for 
Mr.  Carlisle  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  as  she  spoke,  and  the  young  man 
met  her  eyes  wdth  a  grateful  glance  in  his  own.  It  w'as  charm- 
ing and — to  those  who  had  only  known  very  different  fraternal 
relations — it  was  remarkable  to  see  the  confidence  and  sympa- 
thy which  existed  between  these  two.  Their  opinions  never  by 
any  chance  clashed  or  jarred.  Especially  on  any  point  where 
honor  or  principle  was  involved,  they  always  seemed  to  feel 
alike,  and  one  never  failed  to  receive  ready  support  and  encour- 
agement from  the  other.  Those  who  like  to  trace  every  effect 
to  its  cause,  might  have  accounted  for  this  on  the  ground  that 
they  were  much  alike  in  what  psychologists  call  the  moral  quali- 
ties. With  regard  to  conscientiousness,  sincerity,  and  fortitude, 
their  mental  constitutions  were  exactly  similar.  All  these  qual- 
ities they  possessed  in  more  than  ordinary  degree.  Both  were 
sensitive,  yet  both  owned  a  certain  sweet  and  stately  pride 
which  veiled  this  sensitiveness  from  others.  Both  were  more 
tender  than  passionate  where  they  loved ;  both  had  that  gift  of 
constancy  in  affection  which  we  are  sometimes  tempted  to  think 
one  of  the  most  perilous  and  unfortunate  of  characteristics; 
both  were  singularly  courageous,  and  neither  had  one  drop  of 
that  bitterness  which  can  bear  malice,  even  where  malice  has 
been  deserved.  Here  the  similarity  between  them  ended.  In 
intellectual  qualities  they  differed  widely.  Basil  was  thoroughly 
sensible,  his  mind  was  clear  and  his  judgment  excellent ;  but  he 
had  none  of  that  mental  brightness  which,  without  dazzling, 
lends  grace  to  whatever  it  touches  ;  that  was  one  of  Madeleine's 
chief  charms. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said,  after  a  minute,  with  a  frankness 
peculiarly  his  own.     "  So  long  as  I  can  be  of  service  to  Mary, 


50  A  QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

I  shall  not  give  up  the  business,  for  I  can  never  forget  wLat  a 
friend  her  father  was  to  me.  But  I  certainly  think  that  I  shall 
have  just  ground  for  complaint  if — if  she  acts  as  I  fear  she 
ma}'." 

"  But  she  has  not  acted  so  yet,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  smile. 
"  What  has  come  over  3^ou,  that  you  take  the  worst  so  entirely 
for  granted  ?  I  thought  you  were  a  better  philosopher.  Is  Mr. 
Devereux  so  terrible  or  so  irresistible  that  you  think  he  has 
only  to  see  and  conquer  ?  For  my  part,  T  have  a  strong  confi- 
dence in  Mary's  common-sense." 

"  I  hope  your  confidence  may  be  justified,"  said  Basil,  a  lit- 
tle gloomily ;  "  but  I  can't  help  fearing  the  worst.  Somehow, 
I  have  a  presentiment  of  mischief  ahead." 

Madeleine  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  believe  in  presenti- 
ments," she  said. 

*'  Ah  ! "  returned  Basil,  "  neither  do  I — when  they  don't 
come  to  pass  !  Now,  supjoose  we  go  in,  and  hear  what  Cham- 
pion has  to  say  about  the  matter  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MAKT   CARLISLE. 

"  Madeleixe,"  said  Rosalind,  entering  the  breakfast-room 
the  next  morning,  where  the  family  were  assembled,  and  she 
was,  as  usual,  the  last  comer,  "  Mary  Carlisle's  pony-phaeton*  is 
at  the  door,  and  here  is  a  note.  I  suppose,  of  course,  she  has 
sent  for  you,"  the  young  lady  added,  as  she  sat  down  to  table. 

"  Yes,  she  has  sent  for  me,"  Madeleine  answ^ered,  reading 
the  line  or  two  which  the  note  contained.  "  Jessie  is  ahvays 
brief,"  she  went  on,  with  a  laugh.  Then  she  looked  at  Basil. 
"  You  can  drive  me  out  to  the  Lodge,"  she  said.  "  It  would  be 
a  pity^  not  to  use  the  carriage  since  Marj'^  has  sent  it ;  but  I 
should  have  enjoyed  a  walk  this  bright  morning." 


MARY   CARLISLE.  51 

"  What  a  sino'ular  taste ! "  said  Rosalind.  "  I  cannot  im- 
agine  how  anybody  can  like  to  walk.  It  may  be  a  matter  of 
necessity  ;  but  as  for  ^^leasure — I  really  wish  Mary  would  make 
me  a  present  of  her  phaeton  !  She  uses  it  very  little,  and  Mrs. 
Ingram  always  takes  the  carriage  when  she  goes  out." 

"  What  will  you  wish  for  next  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Severn.  She 
spoke  a  little  wistfully.  Nothing  could  have  been  too  good  or 
too  bright  for  this  young  beauty,  and  it  went  to  the  mother's 
heart  to  hear  her  wishing  for  luxm^ies  which  she  had  no  power 
to  give — luxuries  that  she  would  have  thought  the  most  common 
necessities  of  life  in  her  own  young  days. 

*'  Champion  will  be  able  to  afford  a  phaeton  for  you,  I  have 
no  doubt,  Rosalind,"  said  Basil. — "  Mamma,  you  have  heard, 
I  suppose,  that  she  has  put  Champion  out  of  his  agony  at 
last  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Severn.  She  smiled,  and  yet, 
as  she  smiled,  she  sighed.  James  Champion  was  well  enough  in 
his  way,  and  she  had  not  uttered  a  word  of  objection  when 
Rosalind  announced  her  engagement,  but  it  was  impossible  not 
to  think  what  a  different  match  the  girl  might  have  made  with  a 
few  advantages  of  wealth  and  social  intercourse. 

"  If  James  Champion  has  ever  been  in  agony,"  said  Rosa- 
lind, "  he  has  certainly  managed  to  endure  it  with  a  great  deal 
of  philosophy.  But  there  is  no  good  in  keeping  him  waiting 
any  longer,"  she  ended,  with  a  sigh  absurdly  like  her  mother's, 
which  was  not  remarkable  since  tliey  both  proceeded  from  the 
same  cause.  No  one  was  more  keenly  alive  than  Rosalind  to 
the  de^^lorable  manner  in  which  her  possible  chances  were  being 
thrown  away. 

"  Now  that  you  are  safely  engaged,"  said  Madeleine,  "  I 
hope  you  will  accept  my  sincere  condolences.  You  have  offered 
me  yours  so  often,  that  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  return  the  com- 
pliment." 

"  It  is  a  great  bore,"  said  Rosalind,  who  was  quite  of  her  day 
and  generation  with  regard  to  forms  of  expression.  "  James 
says  he  sees  no  reason  why  we  should  not  be  married  at  once, 


52  A  QUESTION   OF  UONOR. 

and  I  am  ratlicr  inclined  to  agree  with  liim;  engaged  people  are 
so  exceedingly  tiresome.  There  are  Gordon  and  yourself,  for 
exain]:)le,  Madeleine.  How  very  stupid  you  have  been  during 
these  last  six  months  !  " 

"  Thanks  for  Gordon  and  myself,"  said  Madeleine. 

"  Now,  I  don't  like  rehearsing  Darby  and  Joan  beforehand," 
said  Rosalind,  whose  usual  healthy  appetite  did  not  seem  at  all 
diminished  by  the  fact  of  her  engagement,  and  who  was  butter- 
ing her  toast  as  she  spoke.  "  Besides,  Basil,  if  you  honestly 
think  there  is  a  chance  of  the  pony-phaeton,  it  cannot  be  a  day 
too  soon." 

"  What  cannot  be  a  day  too  soon  ?  "  asked  Basil ;  "  the  pony- 
phaeton,  or  the  prospective  marriage  ?  Felicity  has  mounted  to 
your  brain,  and,  in  consequence,  you  confuse  youv  meaning  and 
your  pronouns." 

*'  The  phaeton,  I  meant,"  said  Rosalind.  "  As  for  the  mar- 
riage, there  is  no  reason  for  haste  about  that,  except  on  the  score 
of  engagements  being  tiresome.  But  James  is  not  likely  to  be 
jealous — especially  since  there  is  nobody  for  him  to  be  jealous  of; 
so,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  leave  to  amuse  myself  as  well  as  I  can 
for  a  year  or  two  yet." 

"  That  will  depend  upon  yourself,"  remarked  Basil.  "  Cham- 
pion is  lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  afford  to  marry  whenever  he 
likes,  and  he  is  never  inclined  to  delay  the  accomplishment  of 
any  thing  upon  which  he  has  set  his  fancy  or  his  head." 

*'  That  is  very  true,"  said  Rosalind,  devoting  herself  to  her 
toast  with  a  sober  air,  for  she  knew  Champion  as  well  as  Basil 
did — too  well  to  indulge  in  any  triumphant  flourish  about  his 
being  obliged  to  submit  to  whatever  she  should  set  her  fancy  or 
head  upon. 

But  here  Mrs.  Severn  interposed — the  color  heightening  a 
little  in  her  pale  cheeks  :  "  Mr.  Champion  must  submit  to  what  I 
decide,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  not  think  of  allowing  Rosalind  to 
marry  for  a  year  at  least." 

"  A    year,    mamma ! "    said    Rosalind,    opening    her    ej^es 
"  What  will  James  say  ?  " 


MARY   CARLISLE.  53 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  he  says,"  Mrs.  Severn  answered, 
^vith  dignity.  "  He  has  no  right  to  say  any  thing.  The  lady 
and  her  friends  always  settle  this  point.  You  are  too  young — 
you  do  not  know  your  own  mind ;  I  will  not  have  your  life  irrev- 
ocably settled  without  giving  you  time  for  consideration. — 
Basil,  am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Quite  so,  mother,"  responded  Basil,  cordially. 

"But  a  vear!"said  Rosalind.  Then  she  leaned  back  and 
laughed.  "I  shall  enjoy  the  expression  of  James's  face  when  I 
tell  him.  But  what  a  household  of  engaged  people  we  shall  be  ! 
Basil,  if  you  would  only  follow  our  example,  it  would  be  really 
harmonious  and  delio'htful." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Basil.  "  You  are  like  the  fox  in  the  fable : 
having  been  caught  in  a  trap  yourself,  you  are  anxious  to  draw 
everybody  else  in,  to  keep  you  in  countenance.  But  how  about 
the  other  party  to  the  engagement  ?  There  is  another  needed, 
you  know.     Where  shall  I  go  to  find  her  ?  " 

"  Would  the  Champion  house  do  ?  "  asked  Rosalind.  "  Did 
I  tell  you  that  Helen  returned  yesterday  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  he,  while  the  ready  color  came  into  his 
face  ;  for  he  had  a  fair  complexion,  and  blushed  like  a  girl.  "  I 
suppose  she  has  had  a  very  gay  summer  ? "  he  added,  after  a 
minute,  with  rather  too  great  an  assumption  of  carelessness. 

"  I  have  not  seen  her,"  Rosalind  answered,  "  but  James  said 
that  she  did  not  talk  as  if  she  had  enjoyed  it  a  great  deal. 
Strange,  that,  for  Helen,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  So  strange  that  she  must  have  had  a  disappointment  of 
some  kind,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Perhaps  she  was  not  as  much  of 
a  belle  as  she  expected  to  be." 

"  Madeleine,  I  am  astonished  at  you ! "  cried  Rosalind. 
"  That  is  very  ill-natured." 

"  I  am  not  like  the  fox  in  the  fable,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Be- 
cause I  have  fallen  into  the  trap  of  engagement  m^^self,  I  am 
not,  therefore,  anxious  to  draw  others  into  it.  But  the  day  is 
wearing  on,  and  I  must  go,"  she  added,  rising. — "  Basil,  if  you 
will  wait  for  me,  I  will  be  ready  in  a  minute." 


5i  A  QUESTION   OF   HOXOR. 

Rosiiliiid  looked  after  her  as  slie  left  the  room,  with  a  sisr- 
nificaut  smile.  Then  she  turned  to  Basil.  "  One  needs  to  be 
reminded  now  and  then  that  Madeleine  is  mortal,  like  the  rest 
of  us,"  said  she,  "  but  I  never  knew  before  that  she  was  jealous." 

"  Jealous ! "  repeated  Basil,  incredulously.     "  Of  whom  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  hear  what  she  said  of  Helen  Champion  ? 
She  has  not  forgotten  that  Gordon  Lacy  paid  her  a  great  deal 
of  attention  last  winter." 

Basil  laughed,  half  amused,  half  scornful. 

"Is  it  possible  you  know  her  no  better  than  that?"  he 
asked.  "  I  gave  you  credit  for  being  a  better  judge  of  charac- 
ter. You  are  right  in  thinking  she  does  not  fancy  Miss  Cham- 
pion ;  but  you  are  altogether  wrong  about  the  cause.  I  should 
think  the  stars  about  to  fall  if  I  saw  Madeleine  jealous  after  any 
such  fashion  as  that." 

"  I  believe  you  think  that  she  is  without  a  fault,"  said  Rosa- 
lind, half-oiFended. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  and  then  he  added,  with  a  smile: 

" '  Faults  has  she,  child  of  Adam's  stem, 
But  only  Heaven  knows  of  them.'  " 

Rosalind  thought  that  she  knew  of  some  of  them,  but,  since 
Madeleine  appeared  in  the  door  at  that  moment,  she  had  not 
time  to  i^ut  her  thought  into  words. 

"  I  am  ready,  Basil,"  the  former  said.  "  Good-morning,  mam- 
ma— good-morning,  Rosalind.  Don't  be  surprised  if  I  do  not 
come  back  until  this  evening.     Mary  will  probably  keep  me." 

There  were  several  messages  to  Mary  from  both  ladies. 
Rosalind  said,  "  Perhaps  I  may  walk  out  for  you  this  evening  ; " 
and  Madeleine  answered,  "  Do  !  " 

Then  the  brother  and  sister  went  to  the  gate,  where  the 
pony -phaeton,  which  Rosalind  envied,  was  standing  with  a  groom 
in  attendance.  Basil's  horse  was  also  waiting — a  beautiful, 
spirited  animal,  which  he  had  named  Roland  after  the  famous 
steed  who  bore  the  good  news  from  Aix  to  Ghent.  "  Can  I 
trust  you  to  ride  him  out  to  the  Lodge,  Joe  ?  "  said  his  master, 


MARY   CARLISLE.  55 

a  little  doubtfully.  Joe  (tbe  groom)  grinned,  and  touched  bis 
cap.  "  I  reckon  you  kin,  Mass  Basil,"  be  answered.  "  On  witb 
you,  tben,"  said  Basil,  as  be  stepped  into  tbe  pbaeton  after 
Madeleine  and  gathered  up  tbe  reins.  But,  like  most  borses, 
Roland  knew  witb  wbom  to  be  foolisb,  and  it  w^as  only  after 
curveting  across  tbe  road  for  some  time  tbat  be  graciously  al- 
lowed Joe  to  mount,  after  wbicb  be  carried  bim  off  at  a  rusb. 

"  He  will  probably  reach  tbe  Lodge  some  time  before  us,' 
said   Madeleine.     "  How   dusty  it  is — and   yet  what  a  lovely 
day  ! " 

It  was  lovely,  exceedingly.  Tbe  air  was  like  an  elixir  in  its 
buoj'ancy,  yet  more  balmy  than  that  of  June ;  the  sunshine  was 
dazzlino;  o-old  ;  the  blue  haze  was  faint  and  delicate  as  a  bridal 
veil,  softening  into  tender  beauty  the  rolhng  hills  and  glowing 
w^oods  around  Stansbury.  A  bttle  later,  tbe  day  would  be  mel- 
low and  golden,  as  if  it  bad  dropped  from  tbe  courts  of  heaven  ; 
but  now  it  was  only  supremely  joyous,  crisp,  glowing,  exujting. 
As  tbe  Severns  drove  through  the  town  at  a  sharp  pace,  color, 
radiance,  an  infinite  variety  of  jewel-like  tints,  and  of  light  flow- 
ing upon  and  waking  tbe  whole  to  glittering  life,  seemed  to 
encompass  them.  But  it  was  when  they  emerged  into  tbe  open 
country  tbat  the  splendor  was  fairly  spread  before  them.  Stans- 
bury was  built  on  a  ridge,  from  wbicb  on  almost  every  side  the 
surrounding  country  sloped  away  with  many  a  swell  and  undu- 
lation, affording,  from  any  point  of  observation,  a  widely-ex- 
tended prospect.  In  this  prospect  there  was  nothing  grandly 
picturesque,  but  it  was  very  fair  to  look  upon,  especially  from 
the  road  along  wbicb  Basil  and  Madeleine  were  driving — fer- 
tile breadths  of  fields,  green  and  level  meadows  shut  in  by  woods 
aflame  with  brilliant  colors,  purple  valleys  and  hills,  which 
seemed  to  sparkle  in  tbe  distance.  .  Houses  were  dotted  here 
and  there,  while  a  little  to  the  right  rose  tbe  tall  chimneys  of 
the  Carlisle  mills,  curling  forth  clouds  of  trailing  smoke. 

"  Is  liot  every  thing  beautiful  ?  "  said  Madeleine.  She  looked 
at  the  fringe  of  soft  blue  forest  afar  off,  witb  her  eyes  quicken- 
ing, her  lips  parted,  a  flush  like  the  lining  of  a  sea-shell  on  her 


5G  A  QUESTION   OF  UONOR. 

cheeks.  At  that  moment  no  other  words  came  to  her  but  those 
supreme  ones  of  the  Church's  homage :  "  Pleni  sunt  coeli  et 
terra,  majestatis  gloriii}  tuos."  She  uttered  them  half  aloud,  and 
as  she  did  so  Basil  exchanged  a  salutation  with  some  one  on  the 
side  of  the  road. 

Her  glance  followed  the  direction  of  his  bow,  and  she  saw 
a  tall,  blond  gentleman,  who  she  knew  at  once  could  only  be 
that  much-discussed  person,  Mr.  Devereux.  Their  eyes  met,  but 
it  was  only  for  an  instant.  Basil  touched  the  ponies,  and  the 
phaeton  bowled  on,  leaving  the  figure  of  the  stranger  enveloped 
in  a  cloud  of  yellow  dust.     Madeleine  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  So  that  is  '  the  claimant  ?  '  "  said  she.  "  Rosalind  was 
right  in  saying  that  he  has  rather  a  distinguished  appearance. 
A  gentleman,  Basil,  at  least." 

'^  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Basil.  "  Nobody  ever  doubted  that ; 
but  gentlemen — or  men  who  ought  to  be  gentlemen,  as  far  as 
blood  and  rearing  go  —  are  guilty  of  shabby  conduct  some- 
times." 

"  I  wonder  if  we  should  call  them  gentlemen,  then  ?  "  said 
Madeleine  ;  "  but  one  is  very  apt  to  use  the  term  solely  with  re- 
gard to  birth  and  breeding." 

She  spoke  a  little  absently.  The  magical  blaze  of  color  about 
their  path,  the  transparent  mist  draping  the  distant  hills,  inter- 
ested her  more  than  the  question  of  what  should  or  should  not 
constitute  a  gentleman.  She  had  an  artist's  soul,  though  she 
never  suspected  the  fact,  and  just  then  every  fibre  was  thrilling 
with  the  consciousness  that  earth  was  fair,  and  life  was  sweet, 
and  God,  above  all,  very  good. 

Devereux,  meanwhile,  was  walking  along  the  road,  think- 
ing of  that  face  so  full  of  a  "  light  that  never  was  on  land  or 
sea,"  which  had  shone  upon  him  for  a  moment.  He  wondered 
if  it  belonged  to  Basil  Severn's  wife,  and  tried  vainly  to  imagine 
why  it  seemed  familiar  to  him,  until  he  remembered  the  house 
where  he  had  paused  the  evening  before,  the  beautiful  face 
framed  in  the  ivy-encircled  window,  the  great  dog  he  had  patted 
over  the  gate,  and  the  little  scene  so  full  of  significance  on  the 


MARY   CARLISLE.  57 

portico,  the  dark-ejed  girl  putting  up  her  hand,  the  man  who 
tenderly  took  it.  "  She  is  scarcely  Severn's  wife,"  he  said  to 
himself,  remembering  that  bit  of  expressive  pantomime.  "  Per- 
haps she  is  his  sister.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  there  is  some  re- 
semblance in  the  faces." 

Basil  at  this  moment  was  flicking  the  ponies,  and  saying :  "  I 
hope  you  will  remember  what  I  urged  on  you  last  night,  Made- 
leine. I  hope  you  will  strongly  advise  Mary  not  to  receive  that 
man.  You  know  the  old  proverb  about  an  ounce  of  prevention. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  it  is  worth  many  pounds  of  possible 
cure." 

"  I  will  do  all  that  I  can,"  said  Madeleine  ;  "  but  why  do  not 
you  speak  to  Mary,  and  advise  her  strongly  ?  " 

"  I  did  advise  her  yesterday — to  no  effect ;  but  I  shall  speak 
to  her  again.  I  have  little  hope  of  influencing  her,  however ;  I 
trust  you  to  do  that." 

"  Don't  trust  too  much.  I  rely  princijDally  on  Marj^'s  good 
sense." 

*'  I  hope  she  will  show  her  good  sense  by  referring  the  fellow 
to  Champion." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Madeleine,  but  again  she  spoke  absently. 
Champion's  name  suggested  another  train  of  thought.  "  Basil,'* 
she  said,  abruptly,  "  what  do  you  think  of  this  engagement  of 
Kosalind's  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  decided  exactly  what  to  think  of  it,"  answered 
Basil ;  "  but  I  suppose  Rosalind  and  Champion  know  their  own 
minds,  and  there  is  no  ground  for  objection  on  my  part.  Why 
do  you  ask  ?     Do  you  dislike  it  ?  " 

"  No — I  only  distrust  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  would  not  say^ 
so  to  any  one  but  yourself,  but  I  am  afraid  it  may  end  badly. 
You  know  how  arbitrary  James  Champion  is,  and,  as  far  as  I  can 
judge,  I  do  not  think  Rosalind  knows  her  own  mind  very  well, 
or  that  she  has  accepted  him  for  any  other  reason  than  that  she 
does  not  want  to  let  him  go." 

"  That  might  be  as  good  a  reason  as  any,"  said  Basil,  laugh- 
ing ;  *'  but,"  he  added,  more  gravely,  "  Champion  may  be  as  ar- 


58  A  QUE-oriON  OF  HONOR. 

bitrary  as  he  likes,  he  shall  not  curb  Rosalind's  liberty  of  choice. 
I  will  see  to  that." 

"  You  will  see  to  it  ?  "  repeated  Madeleine.  She  made  a 
slight  gesture  of  amused  disdain.  "And  pray  how  would  you 
see  to  it  ?  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  let  them  w^ork 
out  their  problem  themselves ;  but,  if  it  ends  in  something  un- 
pleasant, do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that  I  prophesied  it." 

"  But  3'ou  are  not  entitled  to  much  gratitude  if  you  prophesy 
an  evil  without  showing  a  remedy." 

"  I  see  no  remedy,"  said  she,  gazing  at  the  distant  hills,  as  if 
an  answer  mio-ht  come  from  them.  "  Even  in  the  strufrerles  of 
those  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  to  us,  we  have  often  no  alter- 
native but  to  look  on  as  mere  spectators.  Nothing  is  harder, 
and  yet  it  must  be  endured.  Rosalind's  life  is  in  her  own  hands. 
We  can  do  little  for  her." 

"  And  what  of  your  life  ?  "  asked  Basil,  with  a  certain  tender 
softness  in  liis  voice.  He  seldom  used  an  endearing  term,  but 
that  cadence  expressed  more  than  many  endearments,  and  it 
often  came  when  he  spoke  to  Madeleine. 

"  My  life  ? "  repeated  she.  "  My  life  belongs  to  Gordon. 
You  know  that." 

"  But  what  does  Gordon  mean  to  do  with  it  ?  That  is  a 
question  which  has  occurred  to  me  more  than  once  lately,  when 
I  have  noticed  how  entirely  he  seems  to  have  lost  all  interest  in 
his  profession,  all  apparent  desire  to  win  the  position  on  which 
his  marriage  depends.  Madeleine,  you  must  not  expect  me  to 
stand  by  and  see  your  j'outh  spent  in  waiting  on  any  man's 
whims  and  caprices." 

"  Gordon  and  I  have  settled  that,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Would 
not  my  youth  belong  to  him  if  I  were  married  to  him  ?  Well, 
it  belongs  to  him  all  the  same,  though  we  are  not  married.  He 
feels  the  waiting — he  feels  asking  me  to  wait — as  much  as  you 
can,"  said  she,  W' itb  a  half-appealing  tone  in  her  voice  ;  "  but  I 
agree  with  him  that  it  is  better  he  should  attempt  to  do  some- 
thing in  literature  than  to  continue  at  the  law,  which  he  de- 
tests." 


MARY   CARLISLE.  59 

"  'My  dear,"  said  Basil,  geiitlj,  "  do  you  think  Gordon  is  a 
genius  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  sbe,  coloring  vividly — for  it  was  one  thing 
to  acknowledge  this  to  herself,  and  quite  another  thing  to  have 
it  said  to  her  even  by  her  brother's  kind  lips — "  but  you  know 
as  well  as  T  do  that  many  people  succeed  in  literature  who  are 
not  geniuses." 

"  Yes,"  said  Basil,  "  I  suppose  they  do — after  a  fashion. 
But  would  you  care  very  much  for  your  husband  to  be  simply 
one  of  the  moderately  clever  men  who  do  the  drudgery  of  the 
profession  ?  Fancy  him  worked  to  death,  as  the  man  who  de- 
pends upon  his  pen  for  the  means  to  live  must  be,  oppressed  by 
care,  soured  by  disappointment  and  that  failure  to  achieve  great 
results  which  men  in  such  cases  always  call  the  non-appreciation 
of  the  public.  Would  this  be  better  than  steadfast  labor  in  the 
profession  for  which  he  has  been  educated,  and  in  which  he  has 
the  ability  requisite  for  success,  if  he  chose  to  exert  himself? 
Forgive  me,  dear,  if  I  wound  you,"  he  ended,  a  little  wistfully, 
"  but  it  has  been  in  my  mind  to  say  this  for  some  time." 

"  You  do  not  wound  me,"  said  Madeleine,  in  a  voice  which 
w-as  a  trifle  unsteady — "  at  least,  I  mean  that  I  don't  blame  you 
for  saying  what  you  think.  But  you  must  not  blame  me  if  I 
say  that  I  believe  you  are  wrong.  I  know  as  well  as  you  do 
that  Gordon  is  not  a  genius  ;  but  I  think  that  you  underrate  his 
powers,  and  we  must  not  ignore  the  great  fact  that  all  his  en- 
thusiasm, all  his  desire,  is  toward  letters." 

"  And  how  many  another  man's  desire  is  toward  some  thing 
different  from  the  profession  whicb  he  is  forced  by  necessity  to 
adopt !  "  said  Basil,  determined  to  go  through  unflinchingly 
with  tne  disagreeable  task  w-hich  he  had  set  himself.  "  Of 
course,  if  Gordon  bad  suflicient  fortune,  there  would  be  no  ob- 
jection to  his  amusing  himself  with  writing  poems  and  essa3'^s 
— or,  if  he  had  no  connection  with  you,  I  should  take  no  inter- 
est in  his  affairs.  But  as  it  is,  Madeleine,  I  think  you  ought  to 
insist  on  his  devoting  the  chief  labor  of  his  life  to  his  pro- 
fession." 


60  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"I  cannot  do  that,"  said  Madeleine.  "It  is  1  wlio  have  en- 
couraged him  with  regard  to  the  other — I  cannot,  Basil !  You 
must  not  ask  it  of  me." 

"  It  would  be  for  his  good  as  well  as  for  j^ours,"  said  Basil. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  answered  she,  quickly.  "  You  do  not 
know  him  as  well  as  I  do  ;  you  do  not  know  how  this  ambition 
has  become  part  of  his  life.  You  are  perfectly  right  in  saying 
that  many  men  have  to  give  up  ambitions  which  are  equally  dear 
to  them ;  but  what  is  sadder  than  such  a  thwarted  career  ? 
You  must  not  ask  me,  for  any  thought  of  myself,  to  thwart  that 
on  which  Gordon  has  set  his  heart." 

"  You  must  judge  for  yourself,  of  course,"  said  her  brother, 
gravely.  "  I  only  thought  I  would  discharge  my  duty  by  telling 
you  how  the  matter  strikes  me.     Here  we  are  at  the  Lodge." 

It  was  a  short  drive  from  the  gate  to  the  door  of  the  house, 
visible  through  the  foliage  which  made  a  glory  of  color  all  about 
it.  A  pleasant,  picturesque  dwelling,  well  kept,  and  meriting 
its  unpretentious  name,  was  what  appeared,  as  the  carriage 
crashed  along  the  gravel-drive  to  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  which 
ran  the  whole  length  of  the  building,  and  terminated  in  a  large 
conservatory  at  one  end. 

Joe  and  Roland  were  waiting.  "  Keep  him  till  I  come," 
Basil  said  to  the  former,  as  he  assisted  Madeleine  from  the 
phaeton,  and  followed  her  into  the  house. 

As  they  entered  the  hall,  the  doors  of  which  stood  open  to 
the  soft  air  and  bright  floods  of  sunshine,  a  comely-looking 
woman,  with  a  short,  thick-set  figure  and  ruddy  face,  full  of  in- 
telligence, met  them.  She  had  a  key-basket  on  her  arm,  and 
her  whole  appearance  seemed  significant  of  honesty  and  shrewd- 
ness. This  was  Jessie  Holme — the  house-keeper,  amanuensis, 
accountant — in  fact,  as  Basil  often  said,  eyes  and  hands  of  the 
blind  heiress.  Those  who  think  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
gratitude  in  the  lower  orders  should  have  known  this  faith- 
ful servant  of  Mary  Carlisle.  She  had  been  an  uncouth,  un- 
educated child,  whose  parents  had  died  leaving  her  absolutely 
friendless,  when  Mrs.  Carlisle,  out  of  charitv,  received  her  into 


MARY   CARLISLE.  (31 

her  household.  "  I  shall  train  her  for  a  house-keeper,"  she  had 
said,  when  asked  what  she  expected  to  make  of  such  an  unprom- 
ising specimen  of  humanity ;  "  she  seems  to  possess  the  virtue 
of  honesty,  and  an  honest  servant  is  w^hat  poor  Mary  will  need 
above  all  things."  Never  were  truer  w^ords  spoken  ;  never  was 
a  human  soul  more  incorruptibly  honest,  more  gratefully  faith- 
ful, more  warmly  attached  to  the  gentle  and  considerate  mistress 
who  had  given  her  a  home  and  an  education,  than  Jessie  Holme 
proved.  And,  next  to  this  mistress,  she  loved  the  blind  child 
■who  had  grown  up  under  her  wing,  and  whom  the  mother's  dy- 
ino-  words  committed  to  her  care.  "  Never  leave  her,  Jessie  : 
promise  me  that  you  will  never  leave  her  !  "  she  had  said  ;  and 
Jessie  had  promised,  and  passionately  begged  God  to  deal  with 
her  as  she  dealt  with  the  trust  thus  given.  She  had  been  Mr. 
Carlisle's  house-keeper  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  afterward  the  en- 
tire charge  and  responsibility  of  the  Lodge  establishment  rested 
in  her  hands.  Mary  Carlisle  trusted  her  implicitly,  and  people 
who  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  sow  those  seeds  of  kindness 
w^hich  are  likely  to  bring  forth  such  fruits  of  gratitude  often  re- 
marked that  it  seemed  a  "  providential  mercy  "  that  she  should 
have  found  one  so  capable  and  honest  to  relieve  her  of  all  care. 

"  Good-morning,  Jessie,"  said  Madeleine,  as  they  met. 
*'  How  is  Mary  ?  " 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Madeleine — good-morning,  Mr.  Basil," 
said  Jessie,  with  a  smile  that  seemed  to  broaden  her  face  two 
inches.  "  Miss  Mary  wasn't  well  last  night,  but  she's  better  this 
morning,  ma'am." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  said  ^ladeleine.     "  In  the  library  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  Jessie's  answer — who,  indeed,  had 
turned  to  speak  to  Basil — she  crossed  the  hall,  and  opened  the 
door.  With  the  exception  of  two  large,  well-filled  bookcases, 
the  room  she  entered  had  very  little  claim  to  the  name  of  li- 
brary. It  was,  rather,  a  luxurious  sitting-room,  furnished  with 
every  thing  that  could  possibly  contribute  to  the  comfort  of  the 
person  inhabiting  it.  A  soft  warmth  of  atmosphere  and  a  fra- 
grance of  roses  greeted  Miss  Severn  :  the  first  came  from  a  fire 


G2  A   QUESTION    OF   IIOXOR. 

which  burned  on  the  hearth,  notwithstanding  the  mildness  of  the 
morning ;  the  second  from  several  large  vases  full  of  those  rojal 
flowers  which  seem  to  bloom  with  greater  profusion  in  October 
than  in  any  other  month  of  the  year.  There  w^ere  broad  couch- 
es and  deep  chairs ;  the  sunlight  w^as  lying  in  bars  of  gold  on  the 
carpet ;  a  mocking-bird,  whose  cage  hung  in  the  window,  was 
uttering  the  sweetest  of  his  full-throated  notes ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  this  brightness  and  grace  sat  the  blind  girl  who  was  the 
mistress. 

She  w^is  near  the  fire — leaning  back  in  a  chair  that  was  a 
sort  of  round,  luxurious  shell,  with  her  slippered  feet  extended 
on  the  marble  hearth.  They  were  dainty,  well-shaped  feet,  and 
matched  the  small  white  hands  which  lay,  with  such  pathetic 
idleness,  lightly  clasped  in  her  lap.  The  chair  in  which  she  sat 
almost  eno'ulfed  her  frao-ile  fio-ure,  while  on  her  face  the  sio^ns 
of  illness  were  visible  to  the  most  careless  eye,  in  the  transpar- 
ence of  her  colorless  skin,  and  the  attenuation  of  the  delicate 
features.  But  even  with  the  disadvantage  of  habitual  ill-health, 
Mary  Carlisle  was  not  a  plain  woman;  indeed,  she  possessed 
several  points  of  undeniable  beauty.  Her  hair  was  one  of  them. 
It  was  unusually  fine  and  unusually  abundant — two  things 
which  are  seldom  found  united — and  in  color  a  soft,  pale  brown. 
Parted  simply,  without  ripple  or  wave,  it  made  a  Saxon  arch 
over  the  pure,  white  brow,  beneath  which  were  eyes  of  that 
clear,  limpid  blue  which  one  sees  but  rarely — the  tint  of  a  sum- 
mer sky,  a  mountain-lake,  or  a  blossom  of  the  myosotis.  Lovely 
as  these  eyes  were,  however,  it  was  only  necessary  to  glance  at 
them  in  order  to  recognize  that  they  were  sightless.  iSIo  ray 
of  light,  no  suggestion  of  color,  had  ever  come  to  them,  and 
that  introspective  expression  peculiar  to  the  eyes  of  the  blind 
lent  an  interest  as  well  as  a  sadness  to  the  charming  face  in 
which  they  were  set. 

That  face  turned  as  Madeleine  entered,  and  a  faint,  sweet 
smile  broke  over  it.  "  So  you  have  come  at  last ! "  she  said. 
"Is  it  I  who  have  been  impatient,  or  is  it  you  who  have  been 
long?" 


MARY   CARLISLE.  63 

"  I  fear  it  is  I  who  liave  been  long,"  answered  Madeleine,  as 
she  came  forward.  "But  you  must  scold  Basil;  it  was  his 
fault." 

"I  thouo^ht  I  heard  Basil's  voice.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  the  hall  with  Jessie — here  he  comes  now !  " 

Basil  came  as  she  spoke,  wdth  a  quick,  firm  step,  which  would 
have  been  unmistakable  to  duller  ears  than  Mary  Carlisle's. 
After  he  had  shaken  hands  and  asked  how  she  felt,  he  plunged 
at  once  into  the  business  which  had  brought  him. 

"  According  to  your  request,  I  saw  Mr.  Devereux  last  night, 
Mary,"  he  said,  "  but  the  interview  was  very  unsatisfactory.  He 
allowed  me  to  understand  that  he  has  come  here  for  the  purpose 
of  compromising  his  claim,  but  he  still  professes  himself  anxious 
to  see  you." 

"  \Yhy  should  he  be  anxious  to  see  me  ?  '*  asked  Mary,  a 
look  of  interest  coming  into  her  face,  a  slight  flush  of  color  into 
her  wan  cheeks. 

"  I  imagine  because  he  thinks  that  you  may  be  easily  worked 
upon — being  a  woman,"  replied  Basil,  dryly. 

"  Are  women  supposed  to  have  no  sense  ? "  asked  she, 
smiling.  "  If  that  is  Mr.  Devereux's  object,  he  will  find  himself 
mistaken.  I  should  take  no  step  whatever  without  your  advice 
— vou  cannot  for  a  moment  think  that  I  would  !  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Basil,  doubtfully.  "  If  you  receive  him, 
you  will  take  that  step  against  my  advice." 

"But  that  is  a  mere  matter  of  courtesy ;  nothing  of  impor- 
tance is  involved." 

Basil  looked  at  Madeleine ;  then  back  at  the  sightless  eyes 
turned  toward  him.  "  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  a  matter  of  no 
importance,"  said  he.  "  Frankly,  Mary,  I  distrust  the  man,  and 
I  should  exceedingly  like  you  to  decline  to  see  him.  I  do  not 
wish  him  to  come  in  contact  with  you.  Promise  me  that  you 
will  write  and  refer  him  to  Champion  or  to  me." 

Mary  hesitated.  Plainly  she  was  not  ready  to  promise  this. 
"  I  am  afraid  you  think  me  obstinate,"  she  said,  after  a  minute, 
"  but  I  cannot  rid  myself  of  a  feeling  that,  since  he  has  applied 


54:  A   QUESTION   OF  UOXOR. 

so  directly  to  me,  it  would  seem  like  rudeness — like  a  repulse  of 
what  lie  appears  to  mean  with  good  intention — to  refer  him  to 
some  one  else." 

"  You  must  follow  your  own  judgment,  of  course,"  said 
Basil,  w^ith  a  slight  chord  of  irritation  in  his  voice.  "  I  have 
only  offered  my  advice.  Now  I  must  go.  You'll  excuse  my 
haste,  I  know.     Good-morning." 

"  Tell  me,  will  you  be  vexed  wath  me  if — if  I  should  see 
him  ?"  she  asked,  almost  entreatingly,  as  she  detained  his  sun- 
burned hand  for  a  moment  in  the  clasp  of  her  small  white  ones. 

"  Vexed  with  you  ! "  repeated  he,  touched  and  melted  all  in 
a  moment.  "  Good  Heavens,  no  !  Do  what  you  think  best,  by 
all  means.  As  for  being  vexed  with  you — I  couldn't  be  that 
possibly,  if  I  were  to  try.     God  bless  you ! — Good-by." 

He  wrung  her  hand  hard,  dropped  it  into  her  lap,  and,  mo- 
tioning Madeleine  to  follow  him,  left  the  room. 

"  I  see  that  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  receive  him,"  he 
said,  when  they  paused  on  the  piazza.  "  Of  course,  if  she  in- 
sists upon  doing  so,  it  is  impossible  to  hinder  her ;  but  your  in- 
fluence may  do  a  great  deal,  even  yet." 

"  But  it  is  her  own  affair,"  said  Madeleine, hesitatingly,  "and 
perhaps,  after  all,  Basil,  it  would  be  better  to  let  her  follow  her 
owm  judgment — " 

"  Follow  her  own  fiddlesticks ! "  said  Basil,  impatiently. 
"  The  plain  English  of  her  judgment  is  her  inclination.  She  is 
interested  in  the  idea  of  receiving  him  simply  because  he  ap- 
pealed to  her  feelings  ;  and  if  he  succeeds  in  gaining  a  personal 
interview  and  works  upon  her  with  that  plausible  manner  of  his, 
there — well,  really,  there  is  no  telling  what  may  ensue  !  " 

*'  I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  am  confi- 
dent Mary  is  not  so  easily  worked  upon  as  you  think  ;  but  I  will 
do  my  best.     I  cannot  promise  more  than  that." 

"  Be  sure  that  it  is  your  best ! "  said  her  brother.  Then  he 
turned,  and  motioned  Joe  to  bring  up  Roland. 


MR.   DEVEREUX'S  INTERVIEW.  65 


CHAPTER   VII. 


ME  DEYEKEUX'S  INTERVIEW. 


While  Basil  rode  away  with  rather  an  overcast  brow,  Made- 
leine returned  to  the  library,  where  Miss  Carlisle  was  waiting  for 
her. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,"  the  blind  girl  said,  eagerly,  as  soon 
as  she  heard  the  welcome  footstep.  "  I  have  so  much  to  say  to 
you — so  much  to  ask  you.  Let  me  feel  your  hand.  Ah  1  how 
cool  and  pleasant  it  is  ! " 

"  While  yours  is  dry  and  feverish,"  said  Madeleine,  clasping 
it.  "  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well.  You  confine  yourself  too 
much  in  these  warm  rooms.  Dr.  Arthur  told  me,  the  other  day, 
that  you  ought  to  spend  more  time  in  the  open  air.  What  do 
you  say  ? — shall  we  take  a  drive  ?  " 

"  Not  this  morning,"  answered  Mary,  shrinking  deeper  into 
the  soft  depths  of  her  chair.  "  I  am  not  strong  enough.  I  was 
very  unwell  last  night.     Did  not  Jessie  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Basil  told  me  yesterday  evening  that  you  were  not  well, 
and,  if  you  had  not  sent  for  me,  I  meant  to  come  this  morning  to 
see  how  you  were." 

"  You  are  always  kind  ! "  said  the  heiress,  as  gratefully  as  if 
she  had  been  a  pensioner  on  the  charitj'-  of  her  visitor ;  and  she 
stroked  softly  the  hand  that  rested  between  both  her  own. 

"  I  am  afraid  Basil  is  accountable  for  your  fever,"  said  Made- 
leine.    "  Is  it  not  so  ?     Did  he  not  worry  you  yesterdaj''  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Mary,  quietly.  "  He  did  not  worry  me  at  all ; 
but  I  worried  myself  trj'ing  to  decide  what  I  should  do.  It 
would  seem  a  small  matter,  I  suppose,  to  most  people,"  said  she, 
with  a  slight  accent  of  apology,  "  but  I  am  so  unused  to  any 
responsibility  that  even  such  as  this  weighs  hesLvily  upon  me. 
Therefore  I  mean  to  put  it  on  your  shoulders,"  she  ended,  with 
a  smile. 


66  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  On  my  shoulders  ?  "  repeated  Madeleine.  "  Oh,  I  hope 
not.  I  don't  like  responsibilities."  Then,  remembering  how 
strongly  Basil  had  urged  her  to  use  her  influence,  and  what  a 
good  opening  this  was  for  influence,  she  paused  and  hesitated. 

"  But  it  is  not  like  you  to  shrink  from  them,"  said  Mary, 
"  and  it  is  unkind  besides,  when  j^ou  consider  how  many  advan- 
tages 3'ou  have  over  me  for  forming  a  correct  judgment." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Madeleine.  "  You  should  not 
underrate  your  own  powers." 

"  I  do  not  underrate  them.  I  have  brains  here " — she 
touched  her  brow  with  one  slender  finger — "  but  I  am  isolated 
by  ill-health,  and,  most  of  all,  I  am  blind.  How,  then,  can  I 
have  the  faculty  of  judgment  ?  " 

"  God  gave  it  to  you,  dear,"  said  Madeleine,  simply.  "  Be- 
lieve me,  you  are  as  well  able  to  decide  for  yourself  as  I  am  able 
to  decide  for  you." 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  shaking  her  head,  "  I  am  not  able. 
You  must  tell  me  what  to  do.  Shall  T,  or  shall  I  not,  receive 
Mr.  Devereux  ?  " 

'*  On  the  whole,  I  think  that,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  T  should 
decline  to  do  so,"  answered  Madeleine,  uttering  loyally  the  senti- 
ment "with  which  Basil  had  prompted  her. 

"  But  why  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  If  you  were  in  my  place,  you 
would  certainly  have  a  reason  for  declining." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  should  have  a  reason :  I  think  I  should 
feel  that  such  an  interview  would  be  quite  useless,  unless  I 
meant  to  interfere  in  business-matters  which  women  rarely  com- 
prehend." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  intention  of  interfering  in  business- 
matters,  which  Basil  understands  far  better  than  I  do,"  said 
Miss  Carlisle,  "  and  yet  I  cannot  decide  to  refuse  Mr.  Devereux 
the  interview  which  he  asks.  I  have  foro-otten  one  thing:,  how- 
ever;  in  order  to  form  an  opinion,  you  must  read  his  note.  Go 
to  my  writing-desk  yonder,  and  you  will  find  it." 

She  pointed  as  she  spoke — pointed  as  directly  as  if  sight 
had  dwelt  in  her  eyes — to  a  small  table  on  w^hich  stood  an  in- 


MR.  DEVEREUX  S   INTERVIEW.  67 

laid  writing-desk.  Madeleine  rose,  crossed  the  floor,  and  opened 
it.  The  first  thing  that  met  her  glance  within  was  a  white 
envelope,  directed,  in  black,  legible  writing,  to  "  Miss  Car- 
lisle." 

She  drew  forth  the  in  closure,  conscious  the  while  of  that 
respect  for  the  writer  which  a  thoroughly  well-appointed  letter 
always  communicates.  It  was  a  thoroughly  well-written  letter, 
also,  she  found  —  and  Madeleine  was  a  fastidious  judge  of 
style  and  expression.  Nothing  could  possibly  have  been  in 
more  admirable  taste,  respectful,  terse,  and  with  a  ring  of  ap- 
parent sincerity  in  every  word.  As  Miss  Severn's  eye  traveled 
down  the  clearlj^-written  page,  she  found  herself  going  over 
from  Basil's  side  to  Mary's,  in  a  manner  which  would  have 
disgusted  the  former.  It  was  impossible  not  to  be  prepossessed 
toward  a  man  who  was  able  to  express  a  difficult  request  in 
such  graceful  and  courteous  terms  ;  while  far  beyond  the  grace 
and  the  courtesy,  Madeleine  considered  the  honesty  which 
seemed  underlying  these  things.  There  was  not  the  smallest 
trace  of  presumption  or  vanity  in  the  quiet  simplicity  which 
characterized  the  epistle,  and  when  she  had  replaced  it  in  the 
desk,  she  came  thoughtfully  back  to  her  friend. 

"  Well,"  said  the  latter,  after  a  pause  of  considerable  dura- 
tion, "  what  do  you  think  ?     Have  you  nothing  to  sa}'-  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Madeleine,  candidly.  "  You  must  de- 
cide for  yourself.     I  cannot  advise  you." 

"  But  you  must !  "  said  Mary.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  Do 
vou  not  like  the  note  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  like  it — that  is,  it  bears  criticism  very  well.  It 
seems  frank  and  sincere ;  it  is  certainly  courteous  and  respectful." 

''•  What  is  it,  then  ?     Are  you  afraid  of  Basil  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Madeleine,  laughing.  "  What  an  inquisitor 
you  are  !     I  told  you  that  I  do  not  like  responsibilities." 

"  And  I  told  you  that  you  must  accept  this  one." 

"  Why  not  do  as  you  wash,  tlien  ?  "  asked  the  other,  feeling 
as  if  she  w^ere  a  traitor  to  Basil's  trust.  "  After  all,  it  cannot  be 
a  matter  of  very  great  importance."     This  was  said  more  to 


68  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

herself  tlian  to  lier  companion,  and  was,  it  may  be  aclded,  a  salve 
to  her  conscience. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mary.  "  I  feel  as  if  it  was  a  matter 
of  importance — at  least,  as  if  it  might  prove  so.  But,  then,  I 
suppose  instincts  are  not  to  be  relied  upon." 

"  No,  they  are  not  to  be  relied  upon,"  said  Madeleine,  sud- 
denly roused  to  a  sense  of  duty.  "  If  you  will  have  my  advice," 
she  went  on,  "  it  is  the  same  which  I  gave  before  I  read  the 
note.  I  think  it  would  be  best  for  you  to  decline  to  see  Mr.  Dev- 
ereux.  He  can  have  nothing  to  say  which  it  is  important  for 
you  to  hear — nothing  which  could  not  be  said  to  greater  advan- 
tage to  your  lawj'er  or  your  agent.  There  will  be  no  rudeness 
in  declining  his  visit  if  you  tell  him — which  is  quite  true — that 
you  are  very  unwell." 

"  Do  you  think  not  ? "  asked  Mary.  Her  face  fell  a  little. 
Evidently  this  was  not  the  advice  she  had  desired,  for  when  we 
ask  advice,  most  of  us  have  our  preference  with  regard  to  the 
form  it  shall  take. 

"  I  am  sure  not,"  said  Madeleine,  with  decision. 

Then  for  a  short  time  there  was  silence.  The  fire  crackled 
softlj^,  the  bird  sang  loudly,  the  sunshine  streamed  in  with  daz- 
zling brightness,  and  Madeleine  watched  her  companion's  face 
anxiously. 

"  It  is  strange  that  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Mary  said  at 
length.  "  I  never  failed  to  agree  with  you  before.  But  my  in- 
stinct on  this  point  is  unconquerable — the  instinct  that  I  ought 
to  see  him  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say." 

"  In  short,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  smile,  "  you  have  asked 
my  advice  in  order  to  follow  your  own  opinion." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have.  Pray  forgive  me  if  I  seem  ungracious 
or  obstinate — " 

"  How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense  ! "  interrupted  Miss  Sev- 
ern. "  Is  it  not  your  affair  altogether  ?  I  am  half  glad  to  be 
rid  of  the  responsibility  of  your  following  my  advice ;  and 
now,  when  do  you  think  of  receiving  the  formidable  gentleman 
who  has  given  rise  to  so  much  discussion  ? 


MR.  DEVEREUX'S  INTERVIEW.  69 

"I  migbt  as  well  receive  him  to-day:  I  think  I  am  well 
enough." 

"  There  may  be  two  opinions  on  that  point ;  but  shall  I  write 
and  tell  him  so  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind,"  said  Mary,  gratefully. 

So,  Madeleine — who  possessed  the  rare  art  of  yielding  grace- 
fully— went  to  the  desk,  and  having  presented  Miss  Carlisle's 
compliments  to  Mr.  Devereux,  on  a  sheet  of  pale-lavender  pa- 
per, paused  with  suspended  pen,  and  glanced  at  her  companion. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  what  hour  to  name,"  she  suggested. 
"  Shall  I  say  one  o'clock  ?  You  are  always  better  in  the  morn- 
nig." 

"  Not  always.  I  fancy  I  shall  feel  better  this  afternoon.  Say 
four,  instead." 

Since  it  did  not  occur  to  Madeleine  that  there  was  any  ob- 
jection to  this,  she  went  on  writing  the  note,  and,  while  she  was 
so  engaged,  the  door  opened  and  a  lady  entered. 

A  lady  made  up  of  negatives,  if  it  be  possible  to  use  such  an 
expression — a  lady  neither  young  nor  old,  neither  handsome  nor 
plain,  neither  attractive  nor  disagreeable,  a  passive-looking-,  neu- 
tral-colored person,  of  whom  the  most  positive  thing  which  could 
be  said  was  that  she  seemed  to  be  a  gentlewoman.  This  was  Mary 
Carlisle's  aunt — a  sister  of  her  father — who  had  not  been  averse 
to  taking  charge  of  the  orphan  heiress  when  propriety  and  the 
opinion  of  the  world  demanded  that  some  one  should  do  so. 
Mary  herself  had  been  opposed  to  so  useless  an  appendage  as  a 
chaperon ;  but  finally  yielded  to  the  advice  of  others,  and  this 
lady — a  widow  of  independent  means  and  apparently  harmless 
character — was  installed  in  the  position.  She  had  filled  it  for 
two  years  with  passive  ability — in  other  words,  she  had  placidly 
existed,  walked,  talked,  driven,  crocheted,  without  troubling  any 
one — except  the  servants,  who  one  and  all  voted  her  "  meddle- 
some." Unhappily,  this  verdict  was  a  just  one.  Mrs.  Ingram 
was  greatly  inclined  to  meddle  in  what  did  not  concern  her,  and 
her  most  active  and  disao-reeable  characteristic  was  excessive 

curiosity.     At  the  Lodge  her  position  was  altogether  a  sinecure 

4 


'70  A   QUESTION   OF   llOXOU. 

— for  Miss  Carlisle  made  it  definitely  understood  tbat  she  was 
mistress  of  her  own  establishment — and  for  this  very  reason, 
perhaps,  she  had  the  greater  temptation  to  pry  into  domestic 
and  foreign  matters  with  that  inquisitiveness  which  from  much 
indulgence  grows  to  a  positive  disease. 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Ingram,"  said  Madeleine,  looking  up ; 
"  I  hope  you  are  feeling  well  to-da}^  ? — you  \vere  suffering  with 
neuralgia  when  I  saw  3'ou  last." 

"  I  am  suffering  with  it  yet,  Miss  Severn,"  answered  Mrs. 

Ingram,  in  a   voice  of  resigned  complaint.     *'  It   hardly  ever 

'     leaves  me,  though  I  am  sure  Dr.  Arthur  has  given  me  quinine 

enough  to  drive  it  out  of  any  system.     I  hope  you  are  well,  and 

your  mother  and  sister  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  yes — quite  well,"  returned  Madeleine,  sealing  and 
directing  her  epistle. — "  The  note  is  finished,  Mary,"  she  added, 
addressing  Miss  Carlisle.  "  Shall  I  ring  for  a  messenger  to  take 
it  into  Stansbury  ?  " 

"  Let  me  ring,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram,  moving  to  the  bell.  In 
doing  so,  she  passed  behind  Madeleine's  chair,  and  looked  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  address  on  the  letter.  The  result  was  so 
unexpected,  that  she  uttered  an  exclamation.  "  Mr.  Devereux !  " 
she  said.     "  Are  you  writing  to  A^m,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mary,  "  Madeleine  has  been  kind  enough 
to  write  a  line  or  two  telling  him  that  I  will  receive  him  this 
afternoon." 

"  You  are  going  to  receive  him,  then  ! "  said  the  elder  lady,  in 
a  tone  of  strong  curiosity,  interest,  and  surprise.  "  I  thought 
you  said  yesterday  afternoon — " 

"  Xo  matter  what  I  said  3"esterday  afternoon,"  interrupted 
Mary.  "  I  have  decided  that  this  is  best.  Aunt  Ingram.  Please 
don't  say  any  thing  more  about  it ;  I  have  heard  so  much  al- 
readv,  that  I  am  tired." 

"  Not  from  wze,  my  dear,  I  beg  you  to  remember,"  said  Aunt 
Ingram,  with  great  dignity.  "  Of  course  I  can't  be  expected  to 
know  what  others  may  have  urged  on  you  ;  but  I  have  never 
advised  vou  to  do  other  than  follow  vour  own  inclination.     '  You 


MR.  DEVEREUX'S   INTERVIEW.  71 

must  do  exactly  what  you  think  best,'  was  what  T  said  yesterday 
as  soon  as  you  showed  me  Mr.  Devereux^s  note." 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Mary,  with  a  faint,  weary  sigh. 
"  But  sometimes  it  is  not  easy  to  tell  what  one  does  think  best. 
— Is  that  you,  Stella  ?  " — as  the  door  opened.  "  Tell  Joe  to  take 
this  note  to  the  Stansbury  Hoteh     It  is  for  Mr.  Dev"ereux." 

"And  then,"  said  Madeleine,  "bring  Miss  Carlisle's  hat  and 
jacket  and  shoes.     She  is  going  to  walk." 

"  My  dear,  do  you  feel  well  enough  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ingram, 
with  an  air  of  solicitude. 

"  I  suppose  I  do,  since  Madeleine  thinks  so,"  answered  Mary, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Of  course  what  Miss  Severn  thinks  is  always  right,"  said 
Mrs.  Ingram,  with  an  accent  not  quite  marked  enough  to  be  sar- 
castic. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Ingram,"  said  Madeleine,  taking  the  re- 
mark as  if  it  had  been  uttered  in  good  faith.  "  At  least  I  know 
that  I  am  right  now." 

Despite  her  own  reluctance,  Miss  Carlisle  was  therefore  taken 
out  to  walk ;  and  acknowledged  that  she  felt  better  when  she 
paced  up  and  down  the  garden-paths  by  Madeleine's  side.  "  But 
then  I  always  feel  better  when  I  am  with  you,"  she  said.  "  How 
happy  I  should  be  if  you  could  stay  with  me  all  the  time  !  " 

"  It  would  be  a  cheap  way  of  purchasing  happiness,"  said 
Madelehie,  with  her  caressing  smile. 

Yet,  as  she  spoke,  her  heart  smote  her  that  she  could  not  say, 
"  I  will  stay  with  you ! "  But  to  do  so  would  involve  a  partial 
separation  from  Basil,  and  in  a  measure  from  Gordon  also,  which, 
unselfish  as  she  was,  Madeleine  could  not  face.  There  had  been 
a  question  of  doing  so  more  than  once,  and  Mary  had  used  every 
argument  and  persuasion  to  induce  her  to  remain  permanently 
at  the  Lodge — though  the  strongest  argument  and  most  efifective 
persuasion  with  Madeleine  was  the  manifest  need  of  her.  Not- 
withstanding this  fact,  however,  she  could  not  decide  to  go.  Be- 
fore Lacy  had  been  a  tie,  she  had  felt  unable  to  leave  Basil.  It 
has  been  already  said  that  they  loved  each  other  with  more  than 


73  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

ordinary  tenderness,  but,  apart  from  this  affection,  Madeleine 
felt  that  her  brother  needed  her.  In  the  midst  of  his  life  of  toil, 
it  was  to  her  that  he  always  turned  for  that  intelligent  sympathy 
of  mind  and  taste,  that  encoura2:emcnt  when  he  flao-aed,  that 
advice  when  he  was  in  doubt,  which  few  men  are  fortunate 
enough  to  find  at  their  own  hearthstones.  Neither  Mrs.  Severn 
nor  Rosalind  "  understood  "  Basil.  The  finer  shades  of  his  char- 
acter, the  higher  thoughts  of  his  mind,  would  have  been  incom- 
prehensible to  them ;  and  so  Madeleine  could  not  leave  him — 
not  even  for  the  sake  of  the  blind  girl  who  had  been  so  generous 
a  friend  to  both  of  them. 

The  afternoon  was  in  its  full  tide  of  mellow  brightness,  and 
the  trees  were  now  and  then  dropping  their  leaves  pensively  on 
the  broad  gravel-drive,  when  Mr.  Devereux  opened  the  gate  of 
the  Lodge  and  walked  in.  As  he  did  so,  he  glanced  at  his  watch. 
It  wanted  yet  six  minutes  to  four.  Then  he  looked  at  his  boots. 
They  bore  plain  testimony  to  the  dust  of  the  road  over  which 
he  had  passed,  for  they  had  changed  their  color  from  black  to  a 
fine,  light  brown.  Without  being  much  of  a  dandy,  he  wished 
for  a  moment  that,  instead  of  having  indulged  himself  in  the 
pleasure  of  the  walk,  he  had  followed  the  advice  of  the  clerk  of 
the  hotel  and  driven  out.  But  the  next  instant  he  remembered 
that  Miss  Carlisle  would  not  be  aware  of  the  dust  on  his  boots — 
nor  indeed  whether  he  wore  boots  at  all  or  not.  This  turned 
his  thoughts  from  himself  to  the  recollection  of  her  blindness, 
and,  as  he  walked  slowly  forward,  he  regarded  the  pretty  spa- 
ciousness of  the  place  he  was  approaching  wdth  that  reflection 
present  in  his  mind.  It  seemed  to  lend  a  sadness  to  a  scene 
which  else  possessed  great  brightness  and  attraction.  The  glass 
sides  of  the  conservatory  glittered  in  the  sun,  though  the  sashes 
were  thrown  open  to  the  soft,  warm  air,  and  man}'  of  the  plants 
were  still  scattered  over  the  lawn ;  the  windows  of  the  house 
were  also  open,  and  a  golden  repose  brooded  over  every  thing. 

Crossing  the  piazza,  Devereux  paused  for  a  moment  outside 
the  open  door — admiring  the  hall  with  its  arching  staircase,  and 
that  air  of  lightness  and  space  which  good  architecture  gives.    As 


MR.  DEVEREUX'S  INTERVIEW.  73 

he  paused,  a  voice  from  the  upj^er  regions  of  the  house  floated 
to  him  crooniuo-  a  sono:  of  which  tlie  words  were  those  of  a  Meth- 
odist  hjmn,the  air  that  of  "Ye  Banks  and  Braes  o'  Bonnie  Doon." 
A  slight  smile  crossed  his  face.  Jessie,  who  was  singing  as  she 
darned  a  pair  of  stockings,  was  quite  startled  by  the  peal  of  the 
door-bell  which  the  next  instant  resounded  through  the  house. 

A  tall,  black  servant  answered  it,  and,  receiving  Devereux's 
card,  ushered  him  across  the  hall,  and  into  the  drawing-room. 
This  was  a  large,  pleasant  apartment,  well-toned,  and  full  of 
graceful  modern  furniture,  with  several  long  mirrors,  and  a  few 
good  paintings  on  the  walls.  A  glass  door,  draped  with  lace,  led 
into  the  conservatorv.  The  windows  lookino-  toward  the  west 
were  open,  giving  a  glimpse  of  the  garden  all  glowing  and  brill- 
iant in  the  sloping  rays  of  the  sun.  At  one  of  these  windows, 
the  figure  of  a  lady  was  outlined  against  the  brightness.  She 
turned  as  he  entered  and  came  forward.  Receivino-  his  card  from 
the  servant,  she  glanced  at  it,  then  addressed  him  with  a  bow. 

"  Miss  Carlisle  is  ready  to  receive  you,  JMr.  Devereux.  This 
way,  if  you  please." 

She  moved  across  the  floor  as  she  spoke,  and  Devereux — as 
much  impressed  as  could  have  been  desired  by  this  ceremonious 
mode  of  reception — followed  her  as  she  led  the  way  toward  the 
end  of  the  room  where  another  lady  was  sitting  whose  appear- 
ance almost  startled  him,  it  was  so  very  diflerent  from  what  he 
had  expected. 

Yet,  if  he  had  been  called  upon  to  define  exactly  what  he 
had  expected,  he  would  jDrobably  have  found  it  difficult  to  do  so. 
Only,  with  the  idea  of  a  blind  invalid  he  had  associated  some- 
thing painful  which  the  reality  failed  utterly  to  bear  out.  Tlie 
slender  figure  which  rose  as  he  approached,  wore  a  soft  blue  robe 
— so  entirely  devoid  of  the  flounces  and  furbelows  of  fashion, 
that  it  would  have  delighted  a  painter — witli  transparent  frills 
at  throat  and  wrists,  and  the  fleecy  white  drapery  of  a  Shetland 
shawl.  There  was  something  very  becoming  in  the  simplicity 
of  this  attire,  something  very  charming  in  the  fair,  pathetic  face 
crowned  with  pale,  silken  masses  of  hair,  and  something  inex- 


74  A   QUESTION   OF   IIOXOR. 

pressibly  toucliing  in  the  sightless  eyes.  At  that  moment  he 
scarcely  noticed  Madeleine,  who  introduced  him  ^Yith  the  simple 
words,  "  Mar}'',  here  is  Mr.  Devereux." 

"I  am  ghid  to  see  Mr.  Devereux,"  Mary  said,  and  the  words 
struck  Devereux  with  a  new  sense  of  her  great  deprivation  :  he 
did  not  know  how  often  those  who  never  saw,  talk  of  seeing. 
As  she  spoke,  she  extended  her  hand.  If  another  woman  had 
done  so,  he  would  have  been  surprised,  and  his  taste  would  not 
have  been  pleased,  but  in  her  it  only  seemed  an  act  of  exquisitely 
courteous  grace. 

As  he  took  it,  he  murmured  something — he  scarcely  knew 
what.  Never  before  had  he  seemed  to  himself  so  awkward  and 
so  dull.  Then  Madeleine  pointed  to  a  chair,  and  he  sat  down. 
As  he  did  so,  she  moved  away,  and  he  found  himself  alone  with 
Miss  Carlisle. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Mary  had  resumed  her 
seat,  and  sat  with  her  face  turned  toward  him  with  an  air  of  ex- 
pectation. She  was  anxious  to  hear  his  voice.  It  was  chiefly 
b}'^  means  of  the  voice  that  she  judged  of  character.  He,  on  his 
part,  felt  strangely  at  a  loss  for  words.  She  was  so  different 
from  what  he  had  anticipated,  that  he  felt  thrown  out  of  his 
usual  self-possession.     After  a  time  he  spoke. 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  having  ventured  to  intrude 
upon  you." 

It  was  exceedingly  stupid,  as  be  felt ;  but  there  are  times  in 
which,  if  a  man  is  debarred  from  uttering  stupidities,  he  must 
needs  be  silent  altogether,  and  silence  has  its  disadvantages, 
since  we  have  not  yet  attained  to  the  enviable  state  of  those 
pure  intelligences  who  have  no  need  of  language. 

Mary  answered  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  yet  with  quiet 
dignity :  "  There  is  no  need  to  consider  your  visit  in  the  light 
of  an  intrusion.  In  the  matter  which  concerns  us  both,  mv  in- 
terest  is  at  stake  as  well  as  your  own,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to 
hear  w^hat  you  have  to  say  regarding  it." 

"  I  am  much  indebted  to  you  for  liaving  granted  my  request 
for  a  personal  interview,"  said  Devereux,  interested  and  attract 


MR.  DEYEREUX'S   INTERVIEW.  75 

ed  by  her  manner.  It  was  singularly  free  from  pretense,  yet  it 
was  evident  that  the  young  heiress  had  no  inconsiderable  idea 
of  her  own  importance.  This  is  common  enough  with  heir- 
esses, and  few  of  them  have  so  much  excuse  for  it  as  Mary  Car- 
lisle, since  the  veriest  Liliputian  if  he  lived  in  solitude  might 
grow  to  fancy  himself  a  giant.  Neither  would  we  esteem  him 
a  fool  for  doing  so.  It  is  when  a  Liliputian  lives  among  giants 
and  thinks  himself  their  equal  that  we  are  moved  to  amused 
contempt. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  think  that  I  made  the  request  without 
a  reason  for  doing  so,"  the  young  man  went  on.  "  I  wished  to 
speak  to  you  as  I  could  not  speak  to  your  agent  or  your  lawyer. 
I  wished  to  see  you  and — and  learn  how  you  felt  with  regard  to 
this  matter,  which  I  fear  has  troubled  you  very  much,  and  which 
of  late  has  troubled  me  scarcely  less." 

"  To  be  frank  with  you,"  said  Mary,  "  it  has  troubled  me  very 
little  indeed.  I  fear  I  shifted  all  the  annoyance  to  Basil  Severn's 
shoulders.  Personally  I  have  not  felt  much  interest  in  the  re- 
sult. Perhaps  you  can  understand  that  it  would  not  make  a 
great  deal  of  difference  to  me." 

He  understood  what  she  meant.  To  this  blind  girl  all  the 
wealth  in  the  world  would  be  useless  (save  for  doing  good  to 
others),  beyond  the  moderate  amount  necessary  for  her  own 
comfort.  There  are  many  men  who  would  have  found  in  this 
fact  an  excellent  excuse  for  relieving  her  of  a  portion  of  the  for- 
tune which  she  could  not  enjoy ;  but  Arnold  Devereux  was  not 
one  of  these  men.  With  all  his  faults,  there  was  a  strain  of  chiv- 
alry in  his  nature — which  to  himself  he  scornfully  called  Quix- 
otism, and  kept  as  much  as  possible  out  of  sight — which,  not- 
withstanding his  undoubted  belief  in  the  justice  of  his  cause, 
made  him  feel  just  then  like  a  robber  of  helpless  woman- 
hood. 

"  It  would  make  more  difference  than  you  think,  if  the  mat- 
ter went  against  you,"  he  said,  with  a  tone  of  great  gentleness 
in  his  voice.  "  It  would  cripple  your  fortune  very  seriously,  and 
you  would  of  necessity  have  to  endure  many  deprivations.     I 


76  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

hope  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say  that  it  is  thinking  of  this 
which  has  lately  disquieted  me." 

You  are  very  kind,"  said  Mary  ;  but  she  spoke  doubtfully. 
The  man  surprised  and  puzzled  her.  She  certainly  had  not  ex- 
pected any  assurance  of  this  kind,  and  she  found  herself  won- 
dering what  would  come  next.  His  voice  had  a  frank  ring  of 
truth  in  it,  yet  she  could  not  help  distrusting  this  frankness  al- 
most as  much  as  Basil  might  have  done.  "  If  I  could  only  see 
his  face  I "  she  thought.  It  had  not  entered  into  poor  Mary's 
consideration  that  faces  can  deceive  as  well  as  tones, 

Devereux,  meanwhile,  saw  the  distrust  which  she  was  feeling, 
in  her  face,  and  as  he  saw  it  he  smiled.  He  was  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  he  was  not  surprised  or  offended  in  the  least. 

"  Say  candidly  what  you  think,  Miss  Carlisle,"  he  remarked, 
with  the  gentleness  of  his  voice  unchanged.  "  Say  that  you 
cannot  imagine  why  I  should  think  of  you  in  such  a  manner, 
and  that  you  are  sure  I  have  some  interested  end  to  serve." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  do  you  injustice,"  said  Mary,  gravely, 
*'  yet  it  is  strange  for  you  to  consider  me — and  I  am  forced  to 
think  so." 

"  Strange  or  not,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  you  will  believe  me — 
not  on  my  account,  but  on  your  own.  I  should  like  you  to 
trust  me  sufficiently  to  listen  to  a  proposal  which  I  desire  to 
make." 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  distrust  you,"  said  she.  "  I  only  think 
it  singular  that  you  should  have  troubled  ^^ourself  about  my  loss, 
in  case  the  suit  is  decided  in  your  favor." 

"  Why  should  you  think  it  singular  ? "  asked  he,  quickly. 
"  It  is  not  as  if  you — or  even  as  if  your  father — had  been  in  fault 
in  the  matter.  He  was  deceived ;  but  if  he  were  living,  I  should 
not  feel  any  great  disquiet  on  his  account.  A  man  can  generally 
take  care  of  himself.  But  you.  Miss  Carlisle — you,  a  woman  and 
an  invalid — can  you  not  imagine  how  reluctantly  I  face  the  idea 
of  depriving  you  of  what  you  consider  your  rightful  inherit- 
ance ?  " 

"  I  am  not  absolutely  without  reason,  though  J  am  a  woman,'' 


MR.  DEYEREUX'S   IMERVIEW.  77 

said  Mary,  smiling.  "  I  am  able  to  recognize  the  fact  that  it 
is  no  fault  of  yours  if  you  are  forced  to  do  so.  But  it  is  very 
good  of  you  to  think  of  me,  and  I  am  deeplj'  obliged.  There 
is  nothing  to  be  done,  however,  but  to  abide  the  decision  of  the 
law." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  wrong,"  said  Devereux,  "  perhaps  there  is 
somethinfr  else  to  be  done."  Then  he  hesitated  for  a  moment. 
He  had  something  to  say  which  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  express. 
It  would  have  been  an  interesting  scene  at  that  moment  to  any 
one  with  subtile  perceptions  looking  on — Mary's  fair,  intelligent 
face,  full  of  attention,  and  the  doubt,  irresolution,  almost  anxiety 
on  Devereux's  countenance  as  he  gazed  earnestly  at  her,  meet- 
ing the  lovely  eyes  so  pathetic  in  their  blindness.  Finally  he 
spoke,  almost  desperately: 

"  Your  friends  will  tell  you  that  I  am  thinking  only  of  my  own 
interest  when  I  talk  to  you  of  a  compromise  ;  but  this  is  not  so. 
I  am  thinking  of  you  much  more  than  of  myself,  and  I  hope  you 
will  trust  me.  I  have  come  here  solely  on  your  account.  I  wish 
above  all  things  to  be  sure  that  you  do  not  suffer  through  me — 
at  least,  not  to  the  extent  which  will  be  inevitable  if  the  suit,  as 
it  stands  at  present,  is  decided  against  you.  In  order  to  accom- 
plish this,  it  is  necessary  for  a  compromise  of  our  conflicting  in 
terests  to  be  made.  I  do  not  ask  you  for  a  definite  answer  now, 
but  will  you  take  into  consideration  doing  this  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  can,"  said  Mary,  doubtfully.  ''^  The  friends 
of  whom  you  speak  would  not  entertain  such  a  proposal  for  a 
moment,  and  it  is  imjDOSsible  for  me  to  act  in  a  manner  opposed 
to  their  advice." 

This  surprised  Devereux,  and  it  flashed  through  his  mind 
that  perhaps  she  might  be  engaged  to  Severn.  "I  beg  pardon," 
he  said.  "I  thought  you  had  reached  your  majority,  and  were 
entirely  independent." 

"  I  am  of  age,  and  legally  independent,"  said  Marj^,  "  but  there 
are  ties  of  gratitude  and  trust  which  nothing  would  induce  me 
to  disregard.  My  business  is  altogether  in  the  hands  of  my 
friend  and  kinsman,  Basil  Severn." 


78  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

"  AYill  you  agree  to  a  compromise,  then,  if  I  can  succeed  in 
making  Mr.  Severn  hear  reason  ?  " 

"  I  will  agree  to  any  thing  which  he  does,  but " — she  shook 
her  head — "  I  warn  you  that  Basil  will  never  consent  to  compro- 
mise.    I  have  often  heard  him  say  that  he  w^ould  not." 

"  He  is  impetuous,  honest,  and  doggedly  faithful  to  your  in- 
terest," said  Devereux ;  "  I  saw  that  last  night." 

"  He  has  been  every  thing  to  me,"  said  Mary,  with  a  tender 
thrill  of  o-ratitude  in  her  voice. 

Then  there  was  another  short  pause.  Devereux  felt  that  he 
had  said  as  much  as  it  was  expedient  to  say,  yet  he  could  will- 
ingly have  remained  for  a  much  longer  time  in  this  pleasant 
drawing-room,  wath  the  golden  rays  of  the  sun  slanting  in,  the 
glowing  garden  without,  a  scent  of  flowers  on  the  atmosphere, 
and  the  attractive  face  before  him,  over  which  each  wave  of  feel- 
ing passed  like  a  reflection  across  a  mirror.  Suddenly  he  spoke, 
on  an  impulse : 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  see  you  again  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  hope 
you  do  not  think  that  I  presume  on  your  kindness,  but  I  should 
like  to  know  more  of  you,  and  I  think  that,  perhaps,  if  you  knew 
more  of  me,  you  might — trust  me." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  after  a  short,  scarcely  percep- 
tible hesitation — uttered  with  a  cadence  that  was  very  eff"ective. 
But,  for  once,  Arnold  Devereux  was  not  thinking  of  efi'ect.  He 
would  have  scorned  himself  if  he  had  attempted  to  practise  any 
of  his  society  fascinations  on  this  gentle  blind  girl. 

A  faint  flush  came  into  Mary's  pale  cheeks.  "  T  am  inclined 
to  trust  you  already,"  she  said,  "  but,  if  you  wish  to  see  me  again, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  receive  you.  Do  not  trouble  yourself  further, 
Mr.  Devereux,  about  any  loss  which  may  come  to  me,"  she  added. 
"  Y'ou  may  need  this  property.  You  can  see  for  yourself  that  I 
do  not.  Its  loss  will  no  doubt  diminish  my  income  very  much, 
but  that  income  already  greatly  exceeds  my  wants,  w^hich  are 
few." 

"  We  will  talk  of  this  hereafter,"  said  Devereux,  touched  by 
the  sweetness  of  her  manner.     *' You  have  promised  to  see  me," 


A   VISIT   OF   CONGRATULATION.  79 

lie  went  on;  "pray  do  not  be  surprised,  therefore,  if  I  return. 
Meanwhile,  have  1  your  permission  to  see  Mr.  Severn,  and  pro- 
pose terms  of  compromise  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  leave  every  thing  entirely  in  his 
hands." 

Devereux  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly.  "  I  fear  in  that 
case  I  shall  achieve  a  very  small  result,"  he  said. 

He  was  wise  enough  to  know,  however,  that  he  had  already 
achieved  a  very  good  one,  so  he  rose  to  take  leave,  and  Mary — 
whose  ears  had  that  quickness  usual  with  the  blind — hearing 
the  motion,  rose  also. 

"  Let  me  thank  you  again  for  having  received  and  listened 
to  me  so  kindly,"  he  said,  "  and  pray  remember  that  you  '  are  in- 
clined to  trust  me  ! ' " 

"  I  will  remember,"  she  answered,  smiling. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

A    VISIT    OF    COXGRATULATIOX. 

After  Madeleine  left  home  in  the  morning,  Rosalind  finished 
her  breakfast  with  so  much  deliberation  that  it  was  at  least  ten 
o'clock  before  the  "  brealvfast-things  "  were  cleared  away — a  fact 
which  in  Stansbury  was  esteemed  the  height  of  domestic  deprav- 
ity. Mrs.  Severn  herself  objected  to  such  late  hours,  but  she 
was  powerless  before  Rosalind.  Not  that  the  latter  was  unami- 
able  or  rudely  determined  to  enjoy  her  morning  sleep  at  the  ex- 
pense of  her  mother's  convenience ;  but  she  was  spoiled  in  the 
first  instance  and  self-indulgent  in  the  second.  "  I  will  really  try 
and  do  better  to-morrow,  mamma,"  she  would  say,  when  she 
came  down  late  and  met  her  mother's  mildly -reproachful  glance; 
but  the  morrow  on  which  this  "  better  "  was  to  be  accomplished 
never  came,  and  Mrs.  Severn,  who  was  far  from  being  a  disci- 


80  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR 

pliiiarian  with  any  one,  was  least  of  all  so  with  Rosalind.  This 
morning,  therefore,  like  many  other  mornings,  the  breakfast- 
table  stood  in  tlie  floor,  Rosalind  idled  over  her  coffee  and  toast, 
Ann  gossiped  with  the  cook  in  the  kitchen,  and  Mrs.  Severn 
consoled  herself  for  this  common  delay  in  the  household  machin- 
ery by  glancing  with  a  distracted  mind  over  the  morning  paper 
— taking  the  news  of  the  armies  in  France  in  conjunction  with 
her  daughter's  rambling  conversation.  Madeleine  had  been  gone 
half  an  hour,  and  affairs  were  still  in  this  condition  when  there 
came  a  ring  at  the  door-bell. 

*'  There  !  "  said  Mrs.  Severn,  looking  up.  "  There  is  a  visi- 
tor, no  doubt,  and  you  still  at  breakfast,  Rosalind  !  What  will 
people  think  of  your  habits  ?  " 

"  Visitors  w^lio  come  at  this  hour  of  the  morning'^  deserve  to 
find  one  in  bed  ! "  returned  Rosalind,  composedly.  "  As  for 
what  they  think  of  my  habits,  they  are  welcome  to  think  that  I 
am  civilized,  if  they  like." 

"Miss  Champion's  in  the  sittin'-room,  ma'am,"  said  Ann, 
opening  the  door,  and  thinking  that  she  would  now  have  an  op- 
portunity to  clear  off  the  table. 

"Very  well,"  said  Rosalind,  draining  her  coffee-cup,  and 
rising.  She  gave  a  slight  grimace,  for  her  mother's  benefit. 
"  Helen's  early  appearance  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  warmth  of 
a  sisterly  heart,  no  doubt ! "  she  said,  mockingly.  It  was  a  not 
uncommon  feature  of  the  intimacy  which  existed  between  her- 
self and  the  young  lady  in  question,  that  they  were  prone  to 
make  speeches  of  this  amiable  kind  about  each  other. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  very  affectionate  meeting  which  took 
place  when  she  entered  the  sitting-room  where  a  tall,  brunette 
girl,  with  a  marked  profile,  an  abundance  of  black  hair,  a  full 
figure,  and  that  air  of  style,  which  go  to  make  up  what  people 
in  general  call  "  a  very  fine-looking  woman,"  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  men  admire  as  a  beauty,  rose  to  meet  her.  At  night, 
and  in  full  dress,  Helen  Champion  was  very  striking  in  appear- 
ance, for  she  had  then  a  brilliant  color,  and  her  bearing  was  al- 
ways fine  ;  but  in  the  morning  her  complexion  was  pale  and 


A  VISIT   OF   CONGRATULATION.  81 

sallow,  and  bv  the  side  of  Rosalind's  flue  features,  and  delicate 
brightness  of  bloom,  she  looked  as  if  Nature  had  fashioned  her 
heavily  and  carelessly,  using  no  exquisite  workmanship,  but  lav- 
ishing instead  strongly>marked  tints  and  large  curves  of  flesh 
and  blood. 

After  embracing  each  other,  and  exchanging  two  or  three 
kisses  in  quick  succession,  mingled  "with  "  So  glad  to  see  you 
back  again  !  "  and  "  How  do  you  do  ?  "  the  two  friends  sat  down 
side  by  side,  and  critically  regarded  each  other.  Rosalind's 
glance  took  in  the  whole  stjde  and  fashion  of  Helen's  dress. 
Helen's  eyes  dwelt,  with  an  envy  which  she  would  not  have  ac- 
knowledged even  to  herself,  on  Rosalind's  face.  Then  each 
asked  the  other  how  she  was,  and  having  received  a  coherent 
answer,  they  plunged  into  general  conversation, 

"  How  good  it  is  of  you  to  come ! "  said  Rosalind.  "  So  ear- 
ly, too — I  feel  immensely  complimented." 

"  I  could  not  stay  away  !  "  said  Miss  Champion.  "  Of  course 
it  was  your  place  to  come  to  see  me,  since  I  reached  home  only 
yesterday,  and  I  suppose  I  should  have  played  propriety  and 
waited  for  you,  if  Brother  James  had  not  told  us  his  news  this 
morning.  Then  I  felt  as  if  I  must  come  !  And  so  you  are  really 
to  be  my  sister,  Rosalind  ! " 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Rosalind,  composedly.  "But  James 
might  have  come  this  morning  and  asked  me  if  I  had  changed 
my  mind — one  does  sometimes  change  one's  mind  after  sleeping 
on  a  thing — before  making  his  news  public,  I  think  !  " 

This  speech  was  uttered  with  slightly  malicious  intent,  for 
nobody  knew  better  than  Rosalind  that  the  Champions  rather 
disapproved  of  her  as  the  choice  of  their  nonpareil  James,  though 
it  is  doubtful  whether  any  of  them  were  bold  enough  to  suggest 
to  James  that  he  might  display  his  wisdom  to  more  advantage 
by  another  choice. 

"Do  you  mean  that  it  is  not  settled,  then?"  asked  Miss 
Champion,  who  took  things  very  literally.  "Brother  James 
spoke  so  positively,  that  we  thought  of  course  it  was  an  engage- 
ment." 


82  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  I  believe  it  is  an  engagement,"  said  Rosalind,  who  knew 
James  better  than  to  contradict  what  he  asserted,  and  who, 
besides,  had  a  slightly  more  than  conventional  regard  for  the 
truth.  "  But  I  have  not  grown  used  to  the  thought  of  it  yet. 
It  seems  very  strange  that  I  am  really,  after  all,  going  to  marry 
somebody  who  lives  in  Stansbury.  You  know  I  always  said  I 
never  would." 

"  But  one  says  a  great  many  things  which  fortunately  one  is 
not  obliged  to  carry  out,"  said  Miss  Champion,  who  probably 
remembered  a  great  many  such  sayings  on  her  own  account. 
"  Though  indeed  you  are  quite  right  about  thinking  Stansbury 
a  very  poor  place  to  marry  in,"  she  went  on,  with  an  impartial 
air.  "  Apart  from  Brother  James,  I  really  do  not  know  anybody 
whom  it  is  possible  to  call  a  good  match." 

This  was  a  trifle  hard  to  bear,  even  to  the  fortunate  person 
who  had  the  felicity  to  be  Brother  James's  betrothed,  and  family 
pride,  as  well  as  the  desire  to  be  provoking,  made  Rosalind  re- 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  agree  with  you.  What  is  the  proverb 
about  every  swan  thinking  its  own  bird  whitest  ?  Not  to  speak 
of  Basil — whom  I  consider  a  treasure  too  good  for  any  woman 
with  whom  I  am  acquainted — there  is  Gordon  Lacy,  who,  every- 
body says,  is  going  to  be  famous  some  day." 

"  But  one  can't  live  on  what  everybody  says,  nor  even 
on  the  fame  when  it  comes,"  said  the  other,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Madeleine  has  found  that  out,  has  she  not  ?  Brother  James 
says  it  would  have  been  much  better  if  Gordon  had  kept  to  the 
law.  Not  but  that  I  like  him  exceedingly,"  she  added,  hastily, 
"  and  you  have  no  idea  how  much  people  are  beginning  to  talk 
about  him — as  much,  you  know,  as  they  talk  about  any  thing 
literary,  in  fashionable  societj'-,  w^hich  is  very  little." 

"  What  do  they  talk  about  ? "  asked  Rosalind,  who  had 
not  been  out  of  Stansbur}^  since  her  childhood,  and  who, 
whether  she  would  or  not,  was  therefore  obliged  to  sit  at  the 
feet  of  her  more  fortunate  friend  with  regard  to  society  expe- 
rience. 


A  VISIT   OF   CONGRATULATION.  83 

"  People  mostly,"  was  the  careless  reply.  "  Conversation 
may  be  a  little  brighter  than  ours  here  at  Stansbury,  but  it  is 
very  much  the  same  in  substance.  Wherever  one  goes,  one 
seems  to  get  into  a  groove  of  gossip,  and  the  only  difference  is 
the  people  one  gossips  about." 

"  That  must  be  very  stupid,"  said  Rosalind.  "  I  grow  tired 
of  gossip  here,  and  to  go  away  and  find  no  change  would  be  very 
disappointing." 

"  Oh,  but  there  is  a  change,"  said  Miss  Champion.  "  Here 
one  gossips  about  the  same  people  from  one  year's  end  to  an- 
other ;  but  if  you  go  away,  3'ou  find  fresb  people  and  fresh  inter- 
est. Occasionally  new  people  come  here,  however.  Have  you 
seen  this  Mr.  Devereux  whom  everybody  is  talking  about?" 

"  I  fancy  that  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  yesterday  evening. 
It  w^as  merely  a  glimpse,  and  only  for  a  minute." 

"  I  sujDpose  it  was  he  whom  I  met  a  little  while  ago,  as  I 
came  up  the  street — a  tall,  handsome  man,  with  the  air  of  style 
which  one  does  not  usually  see  out  of  a  city.  Brother  James 
was  speaking  of  him  this  morning :  he  says  he  has  come  here 
w^ith  all  kinds  of  sinister  intentions  toward  Mary  Carlisle ;  but 
he  does  not  look  like  a  sinister  person,  and  since  we  know  that 
he  belongs  to  nice  people,  I  think  some  attention  ought  to  be 
paid  to  him.  It  is  really  very  hard  to  face  the  idea  of  coming 
home  and  settling  down  without  a  single  entertaining  man  to 
amuse  one." 

"  How  complimentary  you  are  to  your  old  friends ! "  said 
Rosalind,  feeling  herself  grow  warm  over  the  implied  slight  to 
the  old  friends  in  question. 

"But  one's  old  friends  are  stupid  because  one  knows  all 
about  them,"  said  Miss  Champion.  "  No  doubt  they  do  not 
strike  you  so,  because  you  have  not  been  away  and  seen  scores 
of  entertaining  people ;  but  I  assure  you  I  feel  the  contrast 
already  very  sensibly,  and  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  bored  to  death 
within  a  month. 

"  What  a  pity  you  had  not  made  up  your  mind  to  stay  away 
for  good,  then,  with  some  one  of  the  entertaining  people ! "  said 


8J:  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

Rosulind,  who  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  let  fly  a  small 
arrow  of  sarcasm.  "But  the  newest  of  friends  or  lovers  must 
grow^  old  in  time,  and  the  important  question  is,  how  will  he 
wear  in  that  case  ?  After  all,  there  are  worse  principles  of  se- 
lection than  that  on  which  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  chose  his 
wife,  and  she  her  wedding-gown." 

'  "  I  suppose  that  is  the  principle  on  which  you  have  chosen 
Brother  James,"  said  Miss  Champion,  thinking  that  it  would  not 
be  possible  for  James  to  give  the  same  good  reason  for  his 
choice.  "  I  am  not  sure  tliat  I  should  be  complimented  if  I  were 
in  his  place." 

"James  and  myself  understand  each  other  very  well,"  an- 
swered Ilosalind,  nonchalantly.  "  But  tell  me  about  yourself," 
said  she,  suddenly  dropping  her  weapons  and  rushing  into  the 
affectionate  familiarity  which — alternating  with  such  little  amen- 
ities as  the  above — distinguished  their  intercourse.  "  Have  you 
had  a  delightful  time  ?  Were  your  admirers  all  nice,  and  your 
dresses  all  in  the  fashion  ?  Did  you  enjoy  your  visits  to  your 
friends?  and  is  watering-place  life  as  charming  as  everybody 
says  it  is  ?  " 

In  the  course  of  the  answers  which  these  questions  elicited, 
Rosalind  was  shrewd  enough  to  perceive  that  Madeleine  had 
been  right  when  she  said  that  the  cause  of  Helen's  disappoint- 
ment in  her  summer  campaign  w^as  probably  to  be  found  in  the 
fact  that  she  had  not  met  with  that  high  degree  of  appreciation 
w^hich  is  necessary  to  the  mental  equipoise  of  those  young  ladies 
whom  society  has  agreed  to  call  belles.  A  fish  which  is  very 
large  in  a  mill-pond,  would  make  but  a  small  appearance  in  the 
ocean.  Apart  from  her  personal  charms.  Miss  Champion — in  a 
moderate  way,  and  regarded  from  2^  post-helium  point  of  view — 
was  an  heiress  in  Stansbury.  Miss  Champion  had  found  her 
personal  charms  outshone,  and  her  heiress-ship  quite  eclipsed, 
when  she  went  out  into  that  world  of  society  Avhich  is  to  be 
found  in  cities  and  at  fashionable  watering-places.  Hence  her 
views  of  society  in  general  were  slightly  tinged  with  misan 
thropy. 


A  VISIT   OF   COXGRATULATiOX.  85 

"  The  men  one  meets,  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  are  all 
fortune-hunters,"  she  said,  "  and  the  women  are  all  bent  on  out- 
dressing  each  other.  As  for  manners,  what  one  reads  about  the 
girl  of  the  period  is  not  exaggerated.  You  would  not  believe, 
if  I  were  to  tell  you,  all  that  I  have  seen  and  heard  this  summer. 
Still,  I  have  had  a  pleasant  time  on  the  whole,  and  improved  ray 
knowledge  of  the  world.  Rosalind,  we  must  really  try  to  make 
things  a  little  gayer  than  they  have  been  in  Stansbury.  "What 
do  you  think  of  attempting  to  organize  a  dramatic  and  musical 
clui)  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  very  pleasant  if  it  could  be  done.  But 
where  is  the  material?" 

"That  may  be  found.  Gordon  Lacy  would  be  a  treasure  in 
anv  thino-  of  the  kind.  You  must  all  come  to  me  next  week,  and 
we  will  try  to  organize  a  plan.  I  shall  simply  die  of  ennui  if 
this  state  of  aifairs  continues." 

To  avert  such  a  calamity,  Rosalind  pledged  herself  to  what- 
ever was  required  of  her  either  in  a  dramatic  or  musical  point 
of  view,  and  went  rather  beyond  what  was  prudent  in  pledging 
Madeleine,  Basil,  and  Gordon,  also.  "  What  an  acquisition  Mr. 
Devereux  would  be,  would  he  not  ?  "  she  said  meditatively  in 
conclusion,  thinking  of  his  blond  beard  and  handsome  figure, 
in  connection  with  a  future  stage. 

Miss  Champion's  black  eyes  gave  a  flash.  "  If  he  stays  here 
for  any  length  of  time,  I  intend  to  know  him,"  she  said,  with 
decision ;  and  there  was  a  s-reat  deal  of  meanino^  embodied  in 
that  resolution. 

After  much  desultory  conversation  of  this  description,  and 
many  plans,  largely  and  indefinitely  sketched,  for  the  social 
reformation  of  as  much  of  Stansbury  as  the  reformers  chose  to 
recognize.  Miss  Champion  rose  at  last  and  said  that  she  must 
really  go.  She  did  go — as  far  as  the  hall.  There  she  encoun- 
tered Mrs.  Severn,  who,  being  at  leisure  just  then,  was  very  glad 
to  see  her,  and  verj'  glad  to  encourage  her  to  further  revela- 
tions with  regard  to  her  social  experiences  and  knowledge  of 
the  world.     Miss  Champion  being  fond  of  relating  things  new 


86  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

and  strange,  and  perhaps  not  loath  to  linger,  sat  down  and 
talked  for  a  considerably  longer  time.  After  a  while,  however, 
she  was  warned  by  the  striking  of  a  clock  that  the  morning  was 
over,  and  the  primitive  dinner-hour  of  Stansbury  near  at  hand ; 
so  slie  rose  and  said  again  that  she  must  really  go.  This  time 
she  reached  the  gate.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  she  was  still 
standing  there,  exchanging  a  few  last  important  confidences 
with  Rosalind,  when  Basil  came  down  the  street. 

Miss  Champion  saw  him  afar  off,  as  indeed  she  would  have 
been  blind  if  she  had  not  seen  him,  since  the  view  was  entirely 
unimpeded.  She  laughed,  and  drew  down  her  veil.  "  What  a 
visitation  I  have  made  this  morninof !  "  she  said.  "  Yonder  is 
Mr.  Severn  coming  home  to  dinner.  You  must  really  try  to  ex- 
cuse me,  but  I  have  had  so  much  to  say.  Good-by,  dear,  and  do 
come  to  see  me  very  soon — mamma  is  so  anxious  to  see  you,  and 
I  think  I  have  earned  it  of  you." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  certainly  come  soon,"  said  Rosalind ;  "  but 
when  I  do,  I  will  not  stay  and  wait  for  James  !  "  she  added, 
sotto  voce,  as  her  friend  moved  away.  She  stood  still  and  rather 
maliciously  watched  the  meeting  of  the  latter  with  Basil.  When 
he  saw  who  was  advancing  toward  him,  he  raised  his  hat  with 
a  flashing  smile,  then  rode  up  to  the  pavement,  and,  springing 
from  his  horse,  eagerly  shook  hands.  Miss  Champion  paused, 
and  a  conversation  of  some  length  ensued.  Finally  a  small  bo}'', 
opportunely  passing,  was  intrusted  with  the  care  of  Roland, 
while  Mr.  Severn,  deliberately  turning  his  back  on  his  dinner, 
sauntered  away  by  the  young  lady's  side,  with  that  air  which 
indicates  any  thing  rather  than  an  intense  desire  to  reach  the 
point  of  destination. 

"  Do  you  see  no  signs  of  Basil,  Rosalind  ?  "  asked  her  mother, 
anxiously,  when  she  returned  to  the  house.  "  There  is  a  very 
fine  fish  for  dinner,  which  will  certainlj^  be  spoiled  if  he  does 
not  come  soon." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  order  it  up  and  let  us  have  the  ben- 
efit of  it,  then,  mamma,"  said  Rosalind ;  "  for  Basil  is  walking 
home  with  Helen,  and,  to  judge  by  the  rate  at  which  they  were 


A  VISIT  OF  CONGRATULATION.  87 

proceeding  when  I  saw  them  last,  I  don't  think  he  is  likely  to 
be  here  in  less  than  an  hour — if  so  soon." 

At  that  moment,  Basil  was  saying,  *'  So  you  have  been 
spending  the  morning  with  Rosalind  !  That  is  kind  of  you, 
since  you  reached  home  only  yesterday,  and  after  such  a  long 
absence  had  a  right  to  rest  for  a  week." 

"  But  though  the  absence  has  been  long,  the  journey  was  not," 
answered  she.  "  Who  is  it  remarks  that  one  does  not  travel 
nowadays,  one  only  arrives  at  places  ?  I  arrived  in  Stansbury 
yesterday,  it  is  true,  but  I  am  not  tired  at  all  to-day,  and  I  could 
not  refrain  from  going  to  see  Rosalind  and  telling  her  how  glad 
I  am  that  we  are  to  be  sisters." 

Basil  flushed  a  little.  There  was  something  very  suggestive 
in  the  last  word,  as  the  girl  who  uttered  it  knew  perfectly  well. 
She  looked  before  her,  however,  with  the  most  complete  uncon- 
sciousness, and  went  on  with  the  prettiest  propriety : 

"  We  have  always  been  such  friends,  you  know — such  par- 
ticular and  dear  friends — that  it  really  seems  as  if  Brother  James 
had  consulted  my  choice  as  well  as  his  own.  And  yet  I  hate  to 
give  Rosalind  up  even  to  him — that  is,  I  hate  to  see  her  marry. 
People  say  that  marriage  ends  a  great  many  things." 

"  But  affection  need  not  be  one  of  them,"  said  Basil,  "  espe- 
cially since,  as  you  say,  Rosalind  is  going  to  be  j^our  sister.  I 
should  think  that  a  real  tie  would  strengthen  instead  of  weaken 
the  attachment  between  you."  Miss  Champion  shook  her  head. 
She  was  evidently  bent  upon  taking  a  pensive  view  of  Rosalind's 
engagement.  "  Marriage  ends  friendship,"  she  said.  "  Husbands 
are  always  jealous.   Even  Brother  James  is  a  man  like  other  men." 

"  But  I  thought  it  was  just  the  other  w^ay,"  laughed  Basil, 
passing  over  the  latter  admission — which  was  really  remarkable 
from  one  of  Brother  James's  admiring  family — "I  thought  it 
was  wives  who  are  said  to  be  always  jealous  of  their  husbands' 
early  friends.  You  know  the  old  couplet  which  I  suppose  has 
a  grain  of  truth  in  it : 

*  My  son  is  my  son  till  he  gets  him  a  wife, 
My  daughter's  my  daughter  all  the  days  of  her  life.' 


\S8  A   QUESTION    OF  110x\OR. 


ri^ 


That  goes  to  prove  that  it  is  the  wife,  and  not  the  husband,  who 
makes  war  against  early  affections." 

**  Or  else  women  are  more  faithful  than  men." 

'^Nobodj'  doubts  that^^''  said  chivalric  Basil,  "at  least  nobody 
worth  considcrino-." 

"  A  great  many  23eople  must  be  not  worth  considering,  then," 
said  Miss  Champion,  smiling. 

Now,  there  was  nothing  very  interesting  in  this  conversa- 
tion, yet  both  Basil  and  his  companion  felt  that  it  was  rather 
pleasant  to  idle  along  the  shady  side  of  the  street,  with  the 
golden  boughs  arching  over  them,  and  fragrant,  freshly -fallen 
leaves  rustling  imder  their  feet,  while  they  talked  such  common- 
places  as  these.  Helen  Champion  felt  it  because  she  knew  that 
Severn  admired  her,  and  she  had  a  most  sincere  enjoyment  of 
this  admiration,  united  to  an  absolute  necessity  for  some  interest, 
some  excitement,  some  incense  to  her  vanity,  in  the  dull  stag- 
nation of  the  life  to  wbicli  she  had  returned.  Severn  felt  it  be- 
cause, against  his  better  judgment,  he  was  conscious  that  the  sun 
shone  more  brightlj^,  the  air  was  more  soft,  and  the  whole  earth 
fairer  to  him,  when  this  woman  walked  by  his  side. 

"  How  well  vou  are  lookins: !  "  he  said,  after  a  while — which 
was  as  much  of  a  compliment  as  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  utter 
— "  I  think  you  must  have  enjoyed  your  summer  very  much." 

"  No — not  very  much  ;  only  moderately,"  she  answered. 
"  Part  of  it  was  very  tiresome.  I  begin  to  think  that  I  have  no 
very  great  taste  for  dissipation,  after  all." 

"  So  you  have  not  come  back  ready  to  be  disgusted  by  Stans- 
bury  quietness  and  dullness  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  have  not  come  back  ready  to  be  disgusted  with 
Stansbury,  but  the  quietness  and  dullness  might  be  improved — 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  that  it  would  be  desirable  to  improve  them,  I 
agTce  with  you;  if  you  mean  that  it  would  be  possible — I  don't 
know." 

"  You  have  little  faith  and  less  energy,"  said  she,  shaking  hei 
head  at  him.     "  I  am  like  Brother  James.     If  a  thing  ought  to 


A   VISIT   OF   COXGPwATULATlOX.  89 

DC  done,  I  say  that  it  onust  be  done.  For  two  or  three  years 
past,  we  have  all  been  saying  that  there  ought  to  be  something 
done  to  stir  social  life  in  Stansbury;  yet  nobody  does  it.  Now 
I  am  goiug  to  do  it." 

"  Are  you  ?  I  shall  pledge  the  success  of  your  undertaking 
in  our  best  bottle  of  wine  when  I  go  home." 

"  But  you  must  do  something  more  than  pledge  it,  or  it  will 
never  be  a  success.  You  must  help  me  to  make  it  one.  Will 
you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  answered  Basil,  promptly.  What  else 
could  he  answer  when  such  a  direct  appeal  was  made  to  him, 
seconded  by  bright  black  eyes  and  full  scarlet  lips  ?  "  That  is, 
I  will  do  what  I  can,"  he  added.  "  But  I  have  very  little  leisure 
for  social  amusements." 

"If  everybody  said  that,  there  would  be  no  social  amuse- 
ments," remarked  Miss  Champion,  with  an  air  of  conclusive  logic. 

"Very  true;  but  everybody  does  not  say  it.  On  the  con- 
trarv,  there  are  plenty  of  people  who  care  for  little  besides  so- 
ciety." 

"  I  wish  we  had  a  few  of  that  class  of  people  in  Stansbury. 
I  think  they  would  improve  us  amazingly." 

"Do  you?"  said  Severn.  They  had  reached  the  Champion 
door  by  this  time,  and  on  tlie  steps  he  paused.  "  So  you  have 
come  back  demoralized,  after  all !  "  said  he,  smiling. 

"Do  you  call  it  demoralized  to  have  learned  that  Stansbury 
is  no  worse — no  more  given  to  gossip,  slander,  and  all  unchari- 
tableness — nor  very  mucli  more  stupid,  than  its  neighbors  ?  " 
asked  she,  swinging  her  parasol  to  and  fro,  and  looking  very 
handsome  just  then  with  the  light  shadows  of  the  branching 
elms  falling  over  her. 

"  No  :  but  still  vou  seem  to  be  finding  fault  with  us." 

"Do  you  fancy  yourselves  perfect ?  Socially  I  think  there 
is  a  great  deal  yet  to  be  done — and  I  mean  to  do  it !  Come  ! " — 
she  held  out  her  hand,  a  well-shaped  hand  in  a  well-fitting  glove 
— "  will  you  pledge  your  assistance  when  I  need  it  ?  " 

As  Basil  took  the  hand  thus  ofi"ered,  an  answer  rose  to  his 


90  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

lips  wliicli  for  once  he  did  not  check:  '''Qui  m\iit)ie^  me  suit!'*'* 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice.     "  Was  that  call  ever  unli ceded  ?  " 

"  Then  I  consider  you  pledged,"  said  Miss  Champion.  She 
blushed  a  very  little,  and  drew  back  her  hand ;  but  she  was  not 
otYended.  Her  experiences  had  taught  her  that  this  was  very 
mild  flirtation  indeed.  "  But  I  must  say  good-morning,  unless 
you  will  come  in.     Mamma  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  he,  lifting  his  hat.  "-They  are  expecting 
me  at  home.     Good-morning." 

"  Helen,  was  that  Basil  Severn  talking  with  you  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Champion  when  her  daughter  entered.  "  You  ought  to  be 
very  careful  how  you  encourage  his  attentions.  You  know  there 
has  been  some  gossip  about  you  already,  and  this  foolish  affair 
of  James's  will  make  people  talk  all  the  more." 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  encouraoino-  his  attentions,"  said  Helen ; 
"  but  what  is  the  good  of  being  young  if  one  has  not  some  amuse- 
ment ? — and  he  is  rather  pleasant,  as  men  go." 


CHx\PTER    IX. 

EOSALIND    TAKES    A    WALK. 

The  man  who  was  rather  pleasant,  as  men  go,  told  his  femi- 
nine audience  at  dinner  that  he  had  received  a  short  note  from 
Madeleine,  informing  him  that  Mary  Carlisle  had  decided  to  see 
Mr.  Devereux. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  he  said,  "  but  it  is  one  of  the  things  for 
whicli  there  is  no  remedy.  She  is  at  liberty  to  see  the  man  if 
she  chooses — and  to  make  a  fool  of  herself  also  !  "  Basil  was 
very  much  vexed,  or  he  would  not  have  used  the  latter  expression. 

"  But  why  should  you  think  that  there  is  any  danger  of  her 
making  a  fool  of  herself?"  asked  Rosalind.  "  Mary  has  a  great 
deal  of  sense,  and  she  believes  in  you  to  such  an  extent,  that  she 
certainly  will  not  agree  to  any  thing  which  you  oppose." 


ROSALIND   TAKES  A  WALK.  91 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Basil,  a  little  grimly.  "  She 
has  taken  a  fancy  to  act  for  herself,  and,  when  a  woman  has  that 
idea,  Heaven  only  knows  where  it  will  end." 

"  Some  women  understand  business  almost  as  well  as  men 
do,"  said  Mrs.  Severn;  "perhaps  Mary  may  be  of  that  kind. 
One  never  knows  what  one  can  do  till  one  tries.  There  is  Mrs. 
Anderson,  Basil — ^you  know  how  well  she  has  managed  two 
large  plantations  ever  since  her  husband's  death." 

"  Yes,"  said  Basil,  who  was  always  respectful  to  his  step- 
mother's commonplaces ;  "  but  Mrs.  Anderson  is  an  energetic, 
middle-aged  woman,  with  the  strength  of  a  grenadier,  while 
Mary  is  a  blind  girl,  who  has  spent  her  life  in  a  sick-chamber." 

"  There  is  a  difference,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Severn,  candidly. 
"  But  this  Mr.  Devereux  may  be  a  better  sort  of  person  than 
you  think." 

"  The  devil  is  never  so  black  as  he  is  painted,"  said  Rosalind, 
flijipantly.  "  Helen  Champion  has  quite  made  up  her  mind  to 
cultivate  Mr.  Devereux. — Did  she  tell  you  so,  Basil  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Basil,  shortly,  and  his  face  darkened  over.  "  It 
strikes  me  that  women  seem  to  care  very  little  whether  a  man  is 
honorable  or  not,  so  that  he  is  good-looking,  gentlemanly,  and 
promises  them  amusement,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  in  a  voice 
which  sounded  almost  stern. 

"  It  strikes  one  that  the  world  in  general  cares  very  little 
about  anybody's  principles — or  conduct  either — so  that  he  is 
agreeable  and  has  money  to  spend,"  said  Rosalind. 

"  Fortunately,  the  opinion  of  the  world  in  general  is  no  cri- 
terion at  all,"  said  Basil.  "  The  world  will  cease  to  be  the  world 
when  it  does  not  applaud  charlatans,  and  honor  rogues." 

And  if  the  3'oung  man  spoke  a  little  bitterly,  it  may  be  for- 
given him  in  consideration  of  the  school  in  which  he  had  learned 
his  philosophy.  Never  was  man  less  fitted  by  Nature  for  the 
part  of  misanthrope  than  Basil  Severn  ;  never  was  man  to  whom 
the  impulse  came  more  warmly  to  regard  with  eyes  of  charity  all 
his  fellow-men ;  but  some  stings  sink  deep  and  remain  forever  in 
the  soul ;  some  wounds  do  not  pass  into  scars,  but  remain  for- 


92  A  QUESTION   OF   UONOR. 

ever  open  and  bleeding.  It  is  doubtful  ^vlletller  a  lifetime  of 
success,  and  that  eager  deference  ■\vliicli  the  world  is  always  ready 
to  pay  to  the  risen  or  the  rising  sun,  could  have  effaced  from 
that  gentle  and  kindly  heart  the  record  branded  on  it  during  the 
impressionable  years  of  youth — the  record  of  that  stern  strug- 
gle in  which  he  had  seen  his  birthright  wrested  from  him  by 
fraud  and  chicanery,  in  which  the  honor  of  men  had  been  taken 
from  his  father's  stainless  memory  to  be  paid  to  those  who  had 
robbed  and  betrayed  him,  and  in  which  he  had  met  only  distrust 
and  coldness  in  his  own  effort  to  win  his  bread  and  keep  his 
name  untarnished. 

After  dinner  Rosalind  followed  him  out  to  the  portico  where 
he  was  lighting  a  cigar,  and,  with  a  careless  air,  sjDoke  ag-ain  of 
Mr.  Devereux. 

"  Did  Madeleine  mention  when  Mary  intended  to  see  him  ?  " 
she  inquired. 

"  At  four  o'clock  this  afternoon,  I  believe,"  Severn  answered, 
pufGng  out  a  cloud  of  smoke.     "  VThj  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Only  because  I  promised  Madeleine  to  walk  out  to  the 
Lodge  for  her,  and  I  did  not  care  to  chance  upon  the  important 


interview." 


"Has  not  Champion  been  on  duty  to-day?  I  am  surprised 
at  that  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  not  to  expect  him.  Next  week  is  court  some- 
M'here,  and  it  seems  he  is  very  busy  getting  his  cases  ready. 
You  know  he  never  defers  business  to  pleasure." 

"  I  know  he  is  a  remarkable  fellow  in  more  respects  than 
one,"  said  Basil,  laughing ;  but  he  glanced  criticalh'-  at  the  beau- 
tiful, calm  face  as  he  spoke.  Was  Rosalind  really  so  well  satis- 
fied with  this  deferring  pleasure  to  business  as  she  appeared  ? — 
or  was  satisfaction  another  name  for  indifference  ? 

Rosalind  was  unusually  restless  that  afternoon;  even  her 
mother  noticed  that.  She  wandered  up-stairs  and  down-stairs, 
out  into  the  garden,  and  back  into  the  house ;  she  sat  down  to 
the  piano  and  sang  half  of  a  song;  she  read  two  or  three  pages 
of  a  new  novel  and  then  threw  it  down.     Finally  she  vanished 


ROSALIND   TAKES  A  WALK.  93 

into  her  own  room,  and  was  neither  seen  nor  heard  from  again 
until  she  emerged  just  as  the  clock  was  striking  four,  arrayed 
for  walking. 

"  How  pretty  you  look,  my  dear !  "  said  Mrs.  Severn — whom 
most  people  would  have  considered  a  very  injudicious  mother  be- 
cause she  occasionally  expressed  in  words  the  agreeable  fact  of 
which  Rosalind's  mirror  had  already  assured  her — "  but  surely 
you  have  not  put  on  that  dress  to  walk  out  to  the  Lodge  ?  " 

That  dress  was  a  pearl-colored  walking-suit,  which  was  one 
of  Rosalind's  prettiest  costumes,  though  made  of  inexpensive 
material.  Every  thing  about  it  was  charmingly  becoming — the 
short,  kilt-plaited  skirt,  the  puffed  and  paniered  overskirt  (one 
of  those  Second  Empire  styles  which  the  feminine  world  was 
wearing  in  the  summer  of  1870),  the  dainty  white  ruffle  and 
blue  scarf  at  the  throat,  and  a  gold  locket  on  a  blue  ribbon. 
Add  to  this  a  leghorn  hat  trimmed  with  blue,  of  one  of  those 
quaint  and  becoming  shapes  which  remind  one  of  a  Watteau 
shepherdess,  and  it  will  be  perceived  that  Mrs.  Severn's  surprise 
was  not  without  reason. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rosalind,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  had  nothing  else  to 
do,  so  I  thought  I  would  make  myself  look  pretty.  James  will 
take  it  as  a  compliment  to  himself  when  he  comes  tliis  evening — 
such  is  the  vanity  and  short-sightedness  of  man  !  1  don't  think 
I  shall  harm  my  dress  by  walking  out  to  the  Lodge,  mamma. 
It  is  not  very  dusty." 

She  passed  from  the  hall  as  she  spoke,  and  Mrs.  Severn 
watched  her  graceful  figure  down  the  walk  and  out  of  the  gate. 
In  her  light,  picturesque  attire,  she  seemed  in  keeping  with  the 
glory  of  the  afternoon,  her  mother  thought,  and  she  could 
not  refrain  from  sighing  again  at  the  reflection  that  all  this 
beauty  and  grace  was  to  be  bestowed  on  James  Champion.  If 
James  Champion's  mother  had  been  present,  she  would  probably 
have  sighed  at  the  thought  of  her  matchless  son  tlu-owing  him- 
self away  on  a  frivolous  girl,  who  had  never  appeared  properly 
grateful  for  the  distinguished  honor  of  his  preference,  and  who 
had  "  only  her  beauty  to  recommend  her,"  as  Mrs.  Champion 


94  A   QUESTION   OF   nOXOR. 

often  rcinarkcd.  There  is  certaiiil}'  no  such  thing  as  pleasing 
everybody,  in  this  world,  especially  with  regard  to  the  delicate 
and  difficult  business  of  matrimony ;  though  it  can  be  said  for 
James  Champion  that  he  had  never  for  a  moment  thought  of 
pleasing  anybody  but  himself. 

Rosalind  took  her  wav  out  of  town  with  meditative  slowness. 
To  do  her  justice,  she  had  not  made  her  toilet  or  selected  her 
hoiu"  with  any  view  to  the  possible  contingency  of  meeting  Dev- 
ereux  at  the  Lodge:  her  idea  only  extended  to  the  probability 
of  meeting  him  on  the  road,  and  observing  if  he  were  really  as 
handsome  as  he  had  appeared  to  her  the  evening  before.  See- 
ing, however,  implies  being  seen ;  and  she  had  been  mindful  of 
this  fact  in  the  pains  which  she  had  bestowed  upon  her  toilet. 
It  was  needful  to  imjDress  this  traveled  gentleman  with  the  fact 
that  Stansbury  had  one  attraction,  at  least,  of  which  to  boast, 
and  it  was  with  this  high  and  impersonal  view  that  Rosalind  set 
forth  in  her  pearl-colored  dress  and  blue  ribbons. 

The  afternoon  was  so  lovelv — so  aboundino;  in  brio;htness,  so 
brilliant  with  color — that  it  tempted  her  to  dalliance,  little  as 
she  cared  usually  for  the  sunniest  smile  which  Nature  could 
wear,  the  gayest  robe  with  which  she  could  adorn  herself.  But, 
then,  Rosalind  had  a  reason  for  dalliance  apart  from  the  beauty 
of  earth  and  sky.  She  was  on  the  direct  road  to  the  Lodge,  so 
that  if  Devereux  left  before  she  reached  there,  she  must  certain- 
ly meet  him,  while,  if  her  arrival  antedated  his  departure,  she 
would  probably  only  obtain  an  unsatisfactory  glimpse  of  his 
back,  from  the  library,  in  which  she  was  able  to  fancy  herself  with 
Madeleine  and  Mrs.  Ingram,  w^hile  all  the  delicate  and  becoming 
effect  of  her  costume  was  wasted.  Therefore,  she  loitered  along 
the  sunny  foot-path  by  the  side  of  the  road,  meeting  now  and 
then  a  man,  woman,  or  child,  most  of  whom  spoke  to  her,  and 
all  of  whom  stared  at  her  admiringly.  Rosalind  did  not  object 
to  the  stares.  She  had  a  comfortable  conviction  that  even  the 
cows  which  she  met,  leisurely  returning  home,  looked  at  her 
with  something  of  appreciation  in  their  large,  full  eyes. 

The  path   which  she  was  following  kept  close  to  a  zigzag 


ROSALIXD   TAKES  A  WALK.  95 

rail-fence,  with  blackberry-bushes  growing  thickly  within  its 
corners.  It  inclosed  a  cotton-field,  in  which  the  hands  were  at 
work  picking,  the  sunlight  resting  like  a  mantle  of  gold  over  the 
broad  acres  "  white  with  the  snow  of  Southern  summers,"  over 
other  fields  beyond,  and  blue  woods  in  the  distance.  Some  of 
the  negroes  were  singing  as  they  worked — one  of  the  old  plan- 
tation songs  familiar  to  every  Southern  ear — a  wagon  loaded 
with  wood  came  by,  and  two  negroes  who  were  perched  on  top 
caught  up  the  refrain  and  filled  the  air  with  it  as  they  passed 
slowlv  alono;.  It  brouo-ht  the  recollections  of  her  childhood 
back  to  Rosalind,  with  a  sense  of  startling  reality.  Just  such 
barbaric  melodies  she  had  heard  when,  as  a  child,  on  her  father's 
plantation,  she  had  stood  a  fascinated  spectator  of  "  corn-shuck- 
ings,"  or  gone  out  on  the  river  in  a  flat-boat  and  listened  to  the 
boatmen's  songs  as  they  poled.  Perhaps  it  was  the  song  and 
the  memories  which  it  awakened,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  sun  shin- 
ing directly  in  her  eyes,  that  made  her  inattentive  to  any  thing 
except  the  path  along  which  she  was  slowly  walking — a  path 
leading  just  then  down  the  sloj^e  of  a  hill,  at  the  foot  of  which 
a  broad,  shallow  stream  crossed  the  road.  It  is  at  least  certain 
that  she  did  not  perceive  a  figure  advancing  to  meet  her  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  stream. 

That  is,  she  did  not  perceive  it  until  she  had  already  taken 
several  steps  on  the  log  which  was  thrown  over  the  water  for 
the  accommodation  of  foot-pasengers.  Then,  looking  up,  she  saw 
a  man  standing  on  the  other  side,  evidently  waiting  for  her  to 
cross.  A  glance  was  enough  to  show  her  that  it  was  the  stranger 
of  distinguished  appearance  whom  she  had  seen  the  evening 
before.  The  unexpected  sight  startled  and  confused  her,  just 
when  she  had  most  need  of  her  presence  of  mind,  for  the  log 
was  small  and  ofi"ered  footing  by  no  means  secure.  If  she  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  him  beforehand,  it  would  have  been  enough 
to  prepare  her,  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  she  w^ould  have 
been  collected  and  graceful  even  in  this  trying  and  tilting  posi- 
tion, but  she  had  not  obtained  that  glimpse,  for  the  road  made 
a  sharp  bend  immediately  after  crossing  the  stream,  and  around 


96  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

this  bend  Mr.  Devereux  had  come  while  she  was  doubtfully  hesi- 
tating over  the  passage  of  the  log.  He  had  started  when  he 
saw  her,  but  then  his  start  had  the  advantage  of  being  on  dry 
ground.  It  was  the  last  thing  which  he  was  expecting  to  see, 
this  daintily-dressed  lady,  standing  on  the  dusty  foot-path,  w^ith 
a  flood  of  sunshine  streamino:  over  the  beautiful  face,  wdth  its 
wild-rose  tints  and  hair  of  rich  bronze-brown,  which  he  recos:- 
nized  at  once.  He  was  gazing  at  her  steadily  when  Rosalind 
looked  up,  and,  as  she  met  his  eyes,  she  gave  a  start — tottered — 
and  extended  her  hand  to  grasp  the  rail-fence  which  spanned  the 
stream  a  little  farther  up.  But,  unluckily,  human  arms  are  not 
elastic.  The  fence  w'as  quite  beyond  her  reach.  The  next  in- 
stant, she  had  lost  her  balance — slipped — fallen — and  found  her- 
self, with  all  her  pearl-and-azure  glories,  in  the  water ! 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  this  was  an  instant  of  as  keen 
humiliation  to  Rosalind  as  any  she  had  ever  known  in  her  life. 
Thought,  as  we  are  aware,  is  quick  as  lightning,  and  she  felt,  in 
the  second  during  which  she  tottered  and  fell,  all  the  awkward- 
ness, the  mortification,  the  undignified  nature  of  her  position,  as 
clearly  as  she  realized  it  afterward.  She  was  one  of  the  people 
to  whom,  of  all  the  evils  of  earth,  ridicule  is  the  most  terrible, 
and  she  could  almost  have  prayed  the  earth  to  swallow  her  as 
she  found  herself  on  her  knees  and  hands  in  the  mud  and  water. 
But  the  earth,  out  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  is  never  so  obliging 
as  to  do  this,  and,  since  her  hat  had  fallen  over  her  face  and  her 
skirts  encumbered  her,  she  had  no  alternative  but  to  remain  in  her 
ungraceful  and  uncomfortable  attitude  during  the  long,  horrible 
seconds  which  it  took  Devereux  to  stride  forward  and  lift  her  up. 

As  he  did  so,  her  hat  fell  off  into  the  water,  but  neither  of 
them  noticed  it.  Rosalind  gasped  as  she  looked  at  him ;  and, 
but  for  a  timely  fear  of  adding  to  the  ridicule  of  the  situation, 
she  would  have  burst  into  tears.  As  for  Devereux,  he  was  seri- 
ously concerned. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  hurt,"  he  said,  with  the  deepest  regret 
in  his  voice,  as  he  assisted  her  to  the  bank.  "  It  was  a  dreadful 
fall.     I  would  have  saved  you  if  I  could." 


ROSALIXD   TAKES  A  WALK.  97 

"No,  I  am  not  hurt,"  she  answered,  tremulously,  after  a  short 
pause.  Then  she  flushed  scarlet,  and  drew  away  from  him  with 
a  little,  hysterical  attempt  at  a  laugh.  "  It  was  very  awkward 
of  me,  and  I — I  am  very  sorry  to  have  troubled  you,"  she  said. 
"  I  shall  do  very  well  now,  thanks." 

As  she  spoke,  she  was  intensely  conscious  of  the  pitiable 
figure  which  she  presented — her  dress  wet,  muddy,  ruined ;  her 
hat  gone,  her  hair  disordered,  her  boots  soaked,  her  gloves  fit 
only  to  fling  away.  If  she  had  detected  a  single  flicker  of  amuse- 
ment in  Devereux's  face,  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  she  would 
have  done.  But  the  sharpest  eyes  in  the  world  could  not  have 
detected  any  thing  of  the  kind.  He  was  honestly  sorry  for  her 
— sorry  for  her  distress,  her  mortification,  her  uncomfortable 
plight — and  his  face  expressed  this  sorrow  in  a  manner  which 
could  not  be  mistaken. 

"  You  will  certainly  take  cold,"  he  said,  anxiousl}'.  "  Can  I 
do  nothino^  ?     Is  there  no  house  near  at  hand  ?  " 

"  There  is  none  nearer  than  the  Lodge,"  answ^ered  Rosalind. 
"  I  was  going  there.  I  must  walk  a  little  faster  now^,  that  is 
all." 

"  The  Lodge !  "  he  repeated.  "  Do  you  mean  Miss  Carlisle's 
place  ?  I  am  just  from  there.  My  name  is  Devereux.  Pray, 
let  me  assist  you  in  some  way." 

"  There  is  no  way  in  which  you  can  assist  me,"  said  Rosalind, 
pettishly.  Just  then  she  felt  that  she  detested  him.  Was  not 
he  at  once  the  cause  and  the  witness  of  her  humiliation  ?  "  It  is 
your  fault !  "  she  added,  impatiently.  "  Why  need  you  have 
come  so  suddenly  around  the  corner  and  startled  me  ?  If  you 
had  not  done  so,  I  should  not  have  lost  ray  balance." 

"  I  am  exceedingly  sorry,"  he  said — and,  indeed,  he  looked 
overcome  with  self-reproach — "  I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  my 
fault.  I  never  was  more  sorry  for  any  thing.  But  I  could  not 
know  that  you  had  not  seen  me  until  you  were  on  the  log,"  he 
added,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  self-justification.  "  I  had  been  in 
sight  for  two  or  three  minutes  at  least." 

"  I  had  not  seen  you  at  all,"  said  Rosalind,  decidedly.     "  It 


98  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

was  because  I  saw  you  at  last,  so  unexpectedly,  that  I  started 
and — and  lell.  There  is  no  good  in  discussing  it,"  she  added, 
brusquely.  "  I  am  sorry  that  j'^ou  were  obliged  to  get  your  feet 
wet,  and  I  advise  you  to  go  on  to  town  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Good-eveninc:." 

She  turned  shortly  and  walked  away,  for  hot  tears  of  mortifi- 
cation were,  despite  all  her  efforts,  gathering  in  her  eyes,  and 
she  was  afraid  that,  if  she  delayed  another  minute,  they  would 
fall.  Never  in  her  life  had  such  a  misfortune  befallen  her  before, 
so  she  scarcely  knew  how  to  bear  it.  She  had  alwaj'S  been  one 
of  the  people  who  are  peculiarly  intolerant  of  any  thing  like 
awkwardness,  and  who  guard  against  disagreeable  accidents  with 
particular  care.  To  be  seen  in  an  ungraceful  or  an  undignified 
position,  was  something  so  terrible  to  her  that  those  who  are 
humorous  enough,  or  philosophical  enough,  or  careless  enough 
to  think  lightly  of  such  things,  could  not  possibly  appreciate  the 
keenness  of  her  distress.  She  clinched  her  muddy  hands  to- 
gether and  swallowed  the  salt  tears  which  chased  each  other 
down  her  cheeks,  as  she  hastened  along,  so  intent  upon  reaching 
the  Lodge  before  any  one  came  by  to  see  her  woful  plight,  that 
she  would  not  pause  for  an  instant,  nor  glance  back  to  see 
whether  or  not  that  "  detestable  man  "  was  laughing  at  her,  now 
that  he  could  do  so  with  impunity.  A  small  negro  urchin  in  tat- 
tered raiment,  whom  she  met,  opened  his  eyes  and  mouth  both 
to  stare  at  her,  and,  although  she  had  a  strong  inclination  to  box 
his  ears,  she  felt  that  she  could  not  spare  the  time  necessary 
for  doing  so.  Even  the  cows  had,  to  her  excited  fancy,  changed 
their  aspect  of  serene,  contemplative  admiration  for  a  glance  of 
wondering  derision. 

The  detestable  man  whom  she  left  behind  had,  meanwhile, 
applied  himself  seriously  to  the  task  of  fishing  her  hat  out  of  the 
water  in  which  it  lay  with  all  its  pretty  bravery  of  blue  ribbons 
and  forget-me-nots.  It  was  a  sorry  sight  when  he  drew  it  to 
land  at  last,  by  the  aid  of  a  crooked  stick.  He  regarded  it  hesi- 
tatingly for  a  minute,  as  if  uncertain  what  to  do  next ;  then,  with 
an  apparently  sudden  impulse,  turned  and  followed  the  young 


ROSALIND   TAKES  A  WALK.  99 

lady.  Fast  as  she  was  walking,  he  soon  overtook  her — since, 
naturally  enough,  his  legs  were  able  to  accomplish  much  longer 
strides  than  hers— but  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  haughtiness 
with  which  she  turned  on  him  as  he  did  so. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said,  "but  I  thought  I  told  you  that  there 
was  nothing  which  I  needed." 

"  Excuse  ??2e,"  he  said,  humbly,  touched  and  made  willing  to 
pardon  her  hrusquerie  by  the  sight  of  the  tears  glittering  on  her 
lashes ;  "  I  should  not  have  followed  you  only  I  thought  it  best 
to  brino-  you  this." 

CD     M/ 

He  extended  the  hat  as  he  spoke.  It  had  been  Rosalind's 
favorite  (because  most  becoming)  head-gear,  and  the  sight  of  its 
utter  ruin  did  not  tend  to  restore  her  amiability. 

"  It  was  useless  to  have  taken  so  much  trouble,"  she  said,  un- 
graciously. "  Why  did  you  not  leave  it  in  the  stream  ?  It  will 
never  be  fit  for  any  thing  again." 

"  I  was  afraid  not,"  said  he,  looking  at  it  compassionately. 
"  But  still  I  am  sure  you  would  not  have  liked  it  left  in  the 
stream,  if  only  because  every  one  who  passed  would  have  rec- 
oirnized  it,  and  wondered  how  it  came  there." 

There  was  so  much  of  thoughtful  consideration  in  this  that 
Rosalind  felt  suddenly  ashamed  of  her  bad  temper.  After  all,  the 
misadventure  was  her  own  fault,  and  there  was  no  need  to  make 
the  enormity  greater  in  Mr.  Devereux's  eyes  by  pettish  unamia- 
bility.  Therefore  she  smiled — an  April-like  gleam  which  bright- 
ened her  face  as  she  turned  toward  him,  conscious  that,  despite 
mud  and  water,  she  was  still  an  excedingly  pretty  woman. 

"  Tliey  would  have  thought,  perhaps,  that  I  had  been  drowned 
and  swept  away  like  Ophelia,"  she  said.  "  That  would  have 
been  tragic  at  least,  and  better  than  falling  off  a  log — which  is 
simply  ridiculous." 

"  But  people  are  never  drowned  in  five  or  six  inches  of  wa- 
ter," said  Devereux,  smihng  in  turn.  "  I  am  afraid  that,  with 
the  suspicious  conjunction  of  the  log,  they  could  only  have  ar- 
rived at  an  idea  of  the  truth.  But  you  must  allow  me  to  apolo- 
gize again  for  my  unfortunate  appearance,"  he  went  on,  seri- 


100  A  QUESTION    OF  HONOR. 

ouslj.     "  You  cannot  tell  bow  I  regret  it.     If  it  bad  Deen  only 
possible  for  me  to  imagine — " 

But  bere  Rosalind  interposed  penitently. 

"  Of  course  it  was  n«t  possible,  and  it  is  I  wbo  must  apolo- 
gize for  baving  been  rude  enougli  to  say  tbat  my  awkwardness 
was  in  any  respect  3'our  fault.  Pray  excuse  me.  It  is  tbe  old 
impulse  of  buman  nature  to  blame  some  one  else  for  one's  mis- 
fortunes." 

"  But  you  were  rigbt  in  this  instance,"  be  said.  "I  saw  tbat 
you  started  wben  you  perceived  me,  and  tbat  immediately  you 
lost  your  balance.  Tbat  makes  it  my  fault,  and  it  is  impossible 
for  m.e  to  say  bow  sorry  I  am.  Do  you  tbink  tbat  5^ou  will  suf- 
fer seriously  ?     Do  you  easily  take  cold  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  I  never  fell  into  water 
before.  This  is  my  first  experience,  and  tbe  consequences  are 
yet  to  be  seen." 

"  I  am  really  afraid  you  may  be  ill." 

''  I  have  no  such  fear.  I  may  take  a  sore-throat  from  my 
wet  feet,  but  that  will  be  all,  I  am  sure.  You  may  take  the 
same,"  she  added,  glancing  at  bis  boots,  which  were  quite  as 
muddy  now  as  they  had  been  dusty  before.  "  I  have  not  thanked 
you  yet  for  coming  to  my  rescue,"  sbe  went  on,  with  a  blush 
which  Devereux  thought  as  exquisite  as  any  thing  he  had  ever 
seen.     "  You  must  think  me  very  ungrateful." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  answered,  sincerely.  "  I  am  so  much 
oppressed  by  a  sense  of.  my  responsibility  tbat  I  cannot  for  a 
moment  think  that  I  deserve  any  thanks.  Besides,  I  did  notb- 
mg.' 

"  You  placed  me  on  my  feet  again.  I  don't  know  bow  I 
should  have  gained  them  without  your  assistance." 

"  I  would  say  that  I  am  very  glad  to  have  been  at  hand  to 
render  such  a  service,  but  for  the  dreadful  fact  that,  if  I  had  not 
been  at  hand,  there  would  probably  have  been  no  accident." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Rosalind,  showing  one  or  two 
charming  dimples  about  her  mouth.  "  The  log  was  very  inse- 
cure. 


ROSALIND   TAKES   A   WALK.  |01 

She  began  to  think  that  he  bore  the  difficult  test  of  an 
awkward  introduction  very  well.  He  had  that  polish  and  ease 
of  manner  which  she  had  always  admired  as  the  first  and  most 
desirable  of  social  gifts,  and  although  it  is  not  j^ossible  to  say 
that  she  was  reconciled  to  the  accident  which  had  made  them 
acquainted — for  the  undignified  nature  of  it  was  not  less  hard  to 
endure  than  the  loss  of  her  dress  and  hat — she  was  at  least  able 
to  acknowledge  that  Mr.  Devereux  had  borne  his  share  of  the 
awkwardness  with  tact  and  courtesy. 

They  were  walldng  so  rapidly  that  they  reached  the  gate  of 
the  Lodge  before  very  long.  There  Rosalind  paused  and  held 
out  her  hand  for  the  hat  which  Devereux  still  carried  by  its  wet 
ribbons. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  grateful  to  you,"  she  said,  more  gracious- 
ly than  she  had  spoken  yet,  "  and  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  have 
had  so  much  trouble.  Thank  you  again,  and  pray  try  to  forget 
my  unreasonable  impatience.  I  hope  you  will  sufi"er  no  ill  con- 
6ec[uences  from  getting  your  feet  wet." 

He  took  his  dismissal  at  once — stepping  back  a  little  and 
raising  his  hat.  "  There  is  no  danger  of  my  suffering  any  thing," 
he  said.  "  A  pair  of  wet  feet  are  of  no  consequence  whatever. 
But  I  am  really  uneasy  about  your  condition.  AYill  you  suffer 
me  to  inquire  to-morrow  whether  or  not  you  have  taken  cold  ?  " 

"  There  is  really  no  necessity  for  your  taking  that  trouble," 
said  Rosalind,  blushing  vividly.  She  would  have  liked  to  say 
yes ;  but  she  was  not  sure  about  the  propriety  of  doing  so,  and 
she  was  quite  sure  that  Basil  and  James  Champion  would  both 
object.  "  I  shall  do  very  \\  ell,"  she  went  on  quickly ;  "  thank 
you  again,  and  good-evening." 

She  bowed  hastily  and  flitted  away,  the  shrubs  and  ever- 
greens which  grew  about  the  entrance  of  the  Lodge  soon  hiding 
her  figure  from  sight.  As  it  disappeared,  Devereux  turned  and 
walked  again  —  rather  slowly — toward  the  town.  His  first 
thought  was  that  she  was  not  less  beautiful  than  he  had  imag- 
ined the  evening  before — a  fact  which  surprised  him,  since  he 
knew  the  illusive  power  of  distance,  and  the  effect  of  pictiu-esque 


102  A   QUESTION   OF   nONOll. 

surroundings,  and  liad  calculated  tliat  half  at  least  of  her  re- 
markable loveliness  was  due  to  those.  His  second  thought  was 
to  wonder  whether  she  was  a  sister  of  Basil  Severn,  mingled 
with  a  reflection  that,  if  so,  Basil  Severn  was  fortunate  in  his 
sisters — a  short-sighted  reasoning  from  personal  beauty  to  moral 
attraction,  which  probably  arose  from  the  fact  that  Mr.  Devereux 
had  no  sisters  of  his  own,  and  had,  therefore,  never  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  regarding  lovely  woman,  either  generally  or  particu- 
larly, from  the  impartial  fraternal  point  of  view.  His  third 
thought  was  that  Fate  seemed  capriciously  bent  upon  multiply- 
ing remarkable  impressions  upon  him  since  his  arrival  in  Stans- 
bury ;  and  his  fourth — which  was  another  instance  of  very  illogi- 
cal leaping  to  a  general  conclusion — was,  that  Stansbury,  with 
regard  to  its  inhabitants,  must  be  a  remarkable  town. 


CHAPTER    X. 

EOSES     AND     THOKNS. 

Despite  her  confident  assurances  to  Devereux  that  no  harm 
to  her  health  would  ensue  from  the  wetting  which  she  had  re- 
ceived, Rosalind  was  confined  to  her  room  the  next  d^y  with  a 
cold  which  required  a  little  domestic  doctoring.  As  for  the 
pearl-colored  dress,  it  was  beyond  all  hope  of  ever  making  pre- 
sentable again,  and,  after  regarding  it  ruefully  in  the  light  of 
morning,  the  patient,  with  that  fine  and  lavish  generosity  which 
is  at  the  bottom  of  much  of  the  charity  of  the  world  (especially 
in  the  testamentary  order),  presented  it  to  Ann.  "  Take  it  out 
of  my  sight,  and  never  let  me  see  it  again,"  she  said ;  and 
Ann  was  ready  enough  to  obey.  The  ill-wind  of  Rosalind's  mis- 
hap blew  a  very  substantial  benefit  to  her,  since,  as  she  re- 
marked to  the  cook,  the  dress  was  quite  as  good  as  ever — if  you 
looked  at  it  behind ;  and  she  already  saw  herself  arrayed  in  it, 
and  occupying  a  conspicuous  seat  in  the  African  Methodist 
church  on  Sunday. 


ROSES   AND   THORXS.  103 

While  Rosalind  was  confined  to  her  room,  and  boring  licrself 
with  a  novel — she  had  no  great  taste  for  reading,  and  often  de- 
clared that  she  never  honestly  enjoyed  any  work  of  fiction  ex- 
cept "  The  Count  of  Monte  Christo  " — the  gentleman  w^ho  had 
the  misfortune  of  havino;  been  the  cause  of  her  accident  made 
his  appearance  in  Basil  Severn's  counting-house  with  the  un- 
pleasant yet  scarcely  unexpected  intelligence  that  he  had  Miss 
Carlisle's  permission  to  see  him  with  a  view  to  discovering  if 
some  arrangement  could  not  be  made  by  which  the  law'suit 
pending  between  them  might  be  ended. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  a  compromise,"  said  Basil,  a  little 
haughtily.  "  There  is  no  other  arrangement  of  which  I  know. 
Am  I  to  understand  that  Miss  Carlisle  has  consented  to  that  ?  " 

"  Miss  Carlisle  has  not  consented  to  any  thing,"  Devereux 
answered,  quietly.  "  She  referred  me  to  yourself,  placing  her 
interest  entirely  in  your  hands." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  3''0ung  man,  "there  is  no  need  to 
discuss  the  matter.  I  shall  not  yield  an  inch,  or  compromise  a 
farthing.  The  law  must  decide  between  us,  Mr.  Devereux,  and 
the  law  alone." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  so  determined,"  said  Devereux. 
"  I  am  sorry  that  you  will  not  listen  to  reason.  Above  all,  I  am 
sorry  that  you.  distrust  my  sincerity  when  I  declare  that  I  am 
thinking  of  Miss  Carlisle's  interest  rather  than  of  my  own." 

"  If  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying  so,  I  am  unable  to  imagine 
why  you  should  think  of  Miss  Carlisle's  interest  rather  than  of 
your  own,"  answered  Basil,  coldly.  "  Disinterestedness  is  a  very 
fine  thing,  but  it  is  a  thing  one  meets  so  seldom  in  the  world — "  , 

"  That  you  are  inclined  to  doubt  its  existence,"  said  Deve- 
reux, as  he  paused.  "  Very  well,  Mr.  Severn,  I  have  done  my 
best — I  hope  you  -^vill  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that — and 
the  subject  ends,  therefore.  I  shall  not  trouble  you  with  it  again ; 
but,  before  we  part,  I  should  like  to  ask  if  it  is  entirely  out  of 
your  experience  or  beyond  your  conception  that  a  man  could 
prefer  self-respect  to  interest." 

The  blood  came  into  Basil's  face  with  a  quick  rush.     It  was 


1.04  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

not  so  mucli  the  tone  which  vibrated  through  this  question  as 
the  answer  which  his  own  conscience  gave  to  it  that,  for  a  sec- 
ond, rendered  him  almost  incapable  of  reply.  Was  he,  indeed, 
doing  another  the  injustice  which  in  his  own  person  he  had  more 
tlian  once  felt  to  be  the  keenest  in  the  world  ?  It  would  have 
been  a  trilling  question  to  most  men,  but  Basil  never  forgot  the 
moment  ill  which  he  seemed  to  stand  accused  and  convicted  of 
rash  judgment, 

"  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  it  is  not  beyond  my  conception  to 
imagine  such  a  thing.  I  should  give  poor  testimony  against 
myself  if  it  were.  If  I  have  done  you  injustice  in  any  respect, 
Mr.  Devereux,  I  beg  your  pardon ;  but  I  cannot  alter  my  deci- 
sion. The  interests  committed  to  my  charge  are  not  my  own, 
therefore  I  am  doubly  bound  to  do  my  best  for  them.  There  is 
nothing  I  would  not  sacrifice  sooner  than  compromise  in  the 
least  degree  the  trust  w^hich  has  been  placed  in  my  hands." 

"  I  appreciate  your  fidelity,"  said  Devereux.  "  Time  alone 
can  show  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong  in  thinking  that  you  are 
making  a  great  mistake.  Meanwhile,  is  there  any  reason  why 
we  should  consider  each  other  in  the  light  of  antagonists  ?  " 

*'  I  suppose  not,"  answered  Basil,  won  despite  himself  by 
the  other's  frankness.  It  was  impossible  to  avoid  being  prepos- 
sessed toward  Devereux.  Even  those  who  were  most  preju- 
diced against  him  acknowledged  the  charm  of  his  manner,  the 
cordial  sweetness  of  his  smile.  He  was  not  a  particularly  re- 
makable  man,  except  for  the  gift  of  attraction — an  inscrutable 
gift  at  best,  and  exceedingly  hard  to  define — which  better  men 
often  lack.  It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  he  possessed  this 
in  superlative  degree,  and,  though  many  people  at  many  times 
had  said  hard  things  of  him,  no  one  had  ever  been  known  to 
say  that  he  was  disagreeable. 

After  this,  a  little  ordinary  conversation  took  place,  and  Ba- 
sil conquered  his  distrust  far  enough  to  yield  to  a  hospitable 
impulse,  and  ask  Devereux  if  he  would  not  spend  the  evening 
with  him.  "  We  have  very  few  attractions  to  ofifer,"  he  said, 
"  but  you  must  find  Stansbury  dull." 


ROSES  axd  thorns.  105 

"  I  do,"  said  tlie  other,  candidly.  Then  he  paused — hesi- 
tated an  instant — finally  went  on  with  a  smile  ;  "  Excuse  me," 
he  said,  "  if  I  ask  whether  your  sister  did  not  meet  with  an 
accident  yesterday  afternoon  ?  " 

"  My  sister  !  "  repeated  Basil,  opening  his  eyes  a  little  ;  for 
Devereux's  connection  with  Rosalind's  misadventnre  had  not 
transpired  in  that  young  lady's  domestic  circle.  "  Yes,  one  of 
my  sisters  was  unlucky  enough  to  fall  into  the  water  in  crossing 
a  stream.  I  did  not  imagine  that  it  was  a  sufficiently  important 
occurrence  to  have  become  an  item  of  news  even  in  such  a 
stagnant  and  gossiping  place  as  Stansbury." 
.  "  I  scarcely  think  that  it  has  become  so,"  said  Devereux, 
"  since  I  was  the  only  witness  of  the  accident,  and  this  is  the 
first  time  that  I  have  spoken  of  it." 

"  Oh  !  you  were  a  witness,  then  ?  Rosalind  did  not  men- 
tion that — perhaps"  (with  a  laugh),  "she  was  not  aware  of 
it." 

"  Yes,  she  was  aware  of  it,"  said  Devereux,  beginning  to 
fancy  that  he  had  been  deficient  in  tact  in  not  imitating  the 
3-oung  lady's  reticence.  But  such  reflections,  like  many  of  our 
brightest  thoughts,  generally  come  too  late.  "  I  onl}^  wished  to 
inquire,"  he  added,  apologetically,  "  if  she  has  suffered  any  ill 
consequences  from  her  wetting." 

"  She  has  a  cold,"  answered  Basil — "  nothing  more,  I  be- 
lieve ;  but  it  confines  her  to  her  chamber." 

"  I  was  afraid  of  that,"  said  Devereux.  "  I  am  extremely 
sorry,"  he  added;  for  he  could  not  help  feeling  as  if  the  SLdci- 
dent  and  its  consequences  were  in  a  measure  his  fault. 

Some  one  else  was  concerned  by  Rosalind's  indisposition — 
some  one  with  a  much  better  right  than  Mr.  Devereux  to  feel 
concern.  Champion,  to  whom  she  had  given  a  very  light  ac- 
count of  her  accident  the  evening  before,  was  surprised,  and  a 
little  inclined  to  be  incredulous,  when  he  called  in  the  afternoon 
to  ask  her  to  ride  and  heard  that  she  was  confined  to  her  room 
with  a  sore-throat  and  fever.  "  Is  it  possible  her  accident  was 
so  serious  as  that  ?  "  he  said  to  Mrs.  Severn.     "  She  scarcely 


lOG  A   QUESTION  CF  IIONCR. 

alhulcd  to  it  yesterday  evening,  and  merely  spoke  of  having 
spoiled  her  dress." 

"  She  did  not  tell  us  very  much  about  it,"  Mrs.  Severn  an- 
swered, "  but  Madeleine  says  that  she  was  very  wet  indeed 
when  she  reached  the  Lodge ;  Mary  sent  her  home  in  the  car- 
riage, you  know." 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  be  able  to  see  me  if  I  call  this  even- 
ing ?  "  Champion  asked,  after  a  short  pause,  as  he  drew  on  his 
gloves. 

Mrs.  Severn  hesitated.  There  was  no  counting  on  Rosalind. 
She  was  an  intractable  patient,  as  well  as  a  capricious  person. 
She  might  make  an  effort  and  come  down-stairs,  but  more  likely 
she  would  prefer  the  solitude  of  her  chamber,  with  a  wrapper 
and  a  novel.  "  If  you  will  wait,'Mr.  Champion,  I  will  send  and 
ask  her,"  she  said,  at  last ;  unable  to  arrive  at  a  decision,  and 
afraid  of  vexing  Rosalind  by  doing  wrong. 

Mr.  Champion  consented  to  wait ;  Mrs.  Severn  rang  the  bell, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  rewarded  by  hearing  that  Rosalind 
was  very  sorry,  but  her  throat  was  sore  and  her  head  ached,  and 
iAie  did  not  think  she  would  be  able  to  see  him  that  evening. 

Receiving  this  decision  with  only  tolerable  grace,  he  made 
his  adieux  to  Mrs.  Severn,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away, 
ordering  his  groom  to  take  the  other  horse  back  to  the  stable. 

Ten  minutes  later  another  step  entered  the  hall.  This  time 
it  was  Gordon  Lacy,  who,  sauntering  into  the  sitting-room — he 
was  as  much  at  home  in  the  house  as  a  tame  cat,  Rosalind  often 
said — asked  for  Madeleine.  "  She  is  in  the  garden,  I  think," 
said  Mrs.  Severn.  "  At  least,  she  spoke  a  little  while  ago  of 
filling  the  vases." 

To  the  garden,  therefore.  Lacy  took  his  way.  It  was  a 
charming  place  always — being  Madeleine's  own  particular  king- 
dom— but  just  now  it  seemed  specially  attractive,  specially  full 
of  the  fragrance  of  roses,  the  varying  tints  of  many  changing 
shrubs.  In  the  depths  of  a  perfect  rose  wilderness,  he  found 
Madeleine.  She  had  her  hands  full  of  flowers,  which  she  held 
out  to  him,  smiling  brightly. 


ROSES  AND   THORNS.  107 

"  Are  they  not  lovely  ?  "  she  said.  "  Except  May,  there  is 
no  month  like  October  for  roses." 

"  I  am  jealous  of  these  flowers,"  said  Lacy.  "  I  believe  you 
care  more  for  them  than  for  any  thing  else  in  the  world." 

"  I  care  for  them  exactly  as  you  do  for  your  poems  and 
your  stories,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  care  for  them  more  than  for 
any  thing  else  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  fine  question  for  you  to  ask,  when  you  know  that 
I  would  make  a  bonfire  of  the  whole  of  them,  and  swear  off 
from  pen,  ink,  and  paper  forever,  if  it  were  a  question  of  spar- 
ing you,  I  will  not  saj^  one  pang,  but  one  vexation  or  annoy- 
ance." 

"Would  you?"  she  said.  Her  face  softened. into  grateful 
tenderness,  even  though  there  was  something  wistful  in  the 
steady  regard  of  her  eyes.  Perhaps  she  knew  him  better  than 
he  knew  himself.  "  You  think  more  of  me  than  I  deserve," 
she  added,  simply,  "  but  I  shall  never  ask  such  a  sacrifice  of 
you." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  never  ask  a  sacrifice  of  anybody,"  said 
he,  truthfully.  "  You  were  born  to  make,  not  to  require,  sacri- 
fices." 

He  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of  honest  love  as  he  spoke,  the 
smishine,  the  warmth,  the  odor,  were  all  about  her — seeming 
to  t\^ify  the  brighter  light,  the  rarer  fragrance  of  true  devotion 
which  would  encompass  her  life — yet  Madeleine  shrank  a  little. 
It  seemed  as  if  a  cold  hand  grasped  her  heart — as  if  the  very 
lips  of  love  uttered  words  which  had  been  uttered  in  her  soul 
long  before,  and  from  which  she  had  shrunk,  as  what  child  of 
earth  does  not  shrink  ?  Only  the  saints  of  God  can  stretch  out 
their  hands  with  the  impassioned  prayer,  "  Give  me  more  suffer- 
ing. Lord,  or  else  I  die  !  " 

*'  Don't  say  that,"  she  answered,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Sacrifices 
are  terrible  thinofs.  Who  of  us  can  know  whether  we  should 
be  strong  enough  to  make  them  if  they  were  demanded  ?  " 

"  They  never  shall  be  demanded  of  you,"  said  Lacy,  confi- 
dently.   "  I  only  spoke  of  what  is  in  your  nature.    But  leave  your 


108  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

roses  alone  now,  and  come  with  me  to  the  suramcr-liouse.  I 
have  a  manuscript  in  my  joockct  with  which  I  want  to  bore 
you." 

"  You  know  that  you  never  bore  me,"  said  she,  quicklj',  and 
no  one  could  have  doubted  her  sincerity  who  looked  at  her  face. 
Her  lover  never  thought  of  doubting  it ;  partly  because  he 
knew  her  uncompromising  truthfulness,  and  partly  because  he 
could  not,  as  a  serious  matter,  entertain  the  idea  that  his  manu- 
scripts could  bore  anybody.  They  were  interesting  to  him ;  why, 
then,  should  they  not  be  interesting  to  everybody  else  ?  Save 
in  his  moments  of  depression,  he  had  a  profound  conviction  that 
they  were,  and  with  regard  to  Madeleine,  at  least,  he  had  good 
reason  to  know  that  every  thing  which  concerned  him  inter- 
ested her. 

They  went  to  the  summer-house — one  of  those  curious  old- 
fashioned  ones  of  cedar,  with  the  dark,  quaint  appearance  out- 
side, the  pleasant  aromatic  odor  within,  which  only  exist  in  a 
few  old  gardens  now — and  there,  while  some  birds  twittered 
and  sang  in  the  green  roof  over  their  heads,  and  a  church-bell 
was  softly  pealing  out  on  the  still  air,  Gordon  read  his  manu- 
script.    It  w^as  a  poem — one  of  the  most  elaborate,  and  in  some 
respects  one  of  the  best,  he  had  ever  written.     Yet,  in  listening 
to  it,  Madeleine  missed  a  certain  simplicity  w^hich  had  been  in 
her  eyes  one  of  the  chief  charms  of  his  writing.     It  was  more 
artistically  finished  and  polished  than  much  which  had  gone  be- 
fore, but  it  was  also  more  pretentious,  and  for  the  first  time  she 
caught  a  decided  echo  of  the  strains  of  one  or  two  of  those  poets 
who  have  most  strongly  impressed  their  manner  and  spirit  upon 
the  minor  singers  of  the  day.     As  she  noticed  this,  a  doubt  and 
hesitation,  with  regard  to  what  she  should  say,  came  over  her. 
To  many,  sufficiently  sincere  people,  it  would  never  have  oc- 
curred; for  there  was  much  in  the  poem  deserving  the  most 
honest  praise — there  was  all  the  graceful  fancy,  the  delicate 
feeling,  and  the  perfect  knowledge  of  versification,  which  she 
had  often  praised  before ;  but  there  was  a  strain  after  something 
higher  than  the  writer's  powers  were  able  to  attain,  there  was 


ROSES  AND   THORNS.  109 

a  mj'stical  obscurity  of  thought  and  an  echo  of  mystical  forms 
of  expression  which  are  familiar  to  all  of  us. 

When  the  last  smooth  cadence  fell  from  his  lips,  Lacy  looked 
up,  expecting  the   quick,  sympathetic  admiration  which  had  al- 
ways met  him  before.     Instead,  he  surprised  the  half-troubled 
look  in  her  eyes,  the  hesitating  quiver  of  her  lips.     In  such  a 
position,  Rosalind  would  have  been  at  no  loss  :  she  would  have 
told  that  part  of  the  truth  which  was  expedient,  and  gracefully 
suppressed  the  rest.     But  a  compromise  with  veracity  was  a 
thing  which  never  occurred  to  Madeleine.     "  You  are  absurdly 
and  unnecessarily  sincere,"  Rosalind  often  said ;  but  even  Rosa- 
lind acknowledged  that  this  unwavering  truth  was  a  rock  on 
which  others  could  always  depend.     That  it  was  an  inconvenient 
rock,  however,   sometimes  dawned   on  the  comprehension  of 
those  about  her,  if  not  on  that  of  Madeleine  herself.     Just  now 
she  almost  felt  it,  as  Gordon's  eager  glance  met  her  own — and 
then  his  face  suddenly  changed. 

"  You  do  not  like  it !  "  he  said,  quickly.  "  Don't  be  afraid 
to  say  so.     I  see  that  you  do  not." 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Madeleine,  with  her  most  tender 
smile.  "  I  know  you  too  well  to  fancy  for  a  moment  that  you 
would  be  offended  by  the  truth.  Besides,  a  critic  is  worth  noth- 
ing, if  he  or  she  is  not  honest ;  and  you  say  I  am  your  critic. 
Shall  I  tell  you  then  sincerely  why  I  do  not  like  it?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  he — but,  although  he  tried  to  speak  as 
usual,  there  came  a  tone  of  slight  constraint  into  his  voice — 
"you  know  I  always  want  you  to  tell  me  exactly  what  you 
think." 

"  What  I  think,  then,"  said  she,  laying  her  hand  gently  on 
his,  "  is,  that  you  have  been  betrayed  into  a  little  too  much  imi- 
tation of  the  style  and  manner  of  Swinburne." 

Lacy  started  back  indignantly — the  blood  rushing  in  a  tide 
to  his  face.  Hardest  of  aU  charges  for  an  author  to  bear  pa- 
tiently, whether  just  or  unjust,  is  that  of  plagiarism. 

"  I  certainly  did  not  expect  tliat^'*  he  said — his  voice  trem- 
bling a  little — "  at  least,  not  from  you,  who  ought  to  know  that 


no  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

I  would  not  imitate  anybody.  The  versification  may,  to  the  or- 
dinary ear,  be  slightly  suggestive  of  Swinburne,  but  in  realitj'^ 
the  subject  and  treatment  are  altogether  different  from  any  thing 
Nvhich  he  has  ever  produced." 

"  Yes,"  said  Madeleine,  eagerly,  "  and  it  is  for  that  very  rea- 
son— because,  in  many  of  the  most  important  points,  it  is  alto- 
gether different — that  I  object  to  the  slight  resemblance  which 
it  bears  to — to  some  of  his  poems." 

"But  I  maintain  that  it  does  not  bear  any  resemblance," 
said  Lacy,  emphatically.  "  Point  out  an  instance  of  what  you 
mean." 

Madeleine  drew  the  manuscript  toward  her  and  pointed  to  a 
verse. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  this  sounds  like  an  echo  of  certain  strains 
in  '  Atalanta  in  Calj'don,'  "  she  said.  "  Perhaps  j'ou  may  not 
have  thou^-ht  of  it,  but  read  it  over  and  see  if  I  am  not  rio-ht." 

"  I  don't  need  to  read  it  over  to  know  that  you  are  wrong," 
said  Lacy,  positively.  "  There  is  absolutely  nothing  like  Swin- 
burne in  the  poem.  If  the  measure  suggests  '  Atalanta  in  Caly- 
don,'  I  can't  help  that.  I  should  have  to  give  up  writing  alto- 
gether, if  I  endeavored  to  find  measures  which  had  never  been 
used  before." 

"  It  is  not  the  measure  only,"  said  Madeleine.  "  You  must 
acknowledge  that  there  are  forms  of  expression  which  certain 
poets  have  made  so  distinctively  their  own  that  they  are  imme- 
diately suggestive  of  them." 

"The  plain  English  of  what  you  mean,  then,"  said  Lacy, 
pushing  the  loose  sheets  of  manuscript  impatiently  away,  *'  is, 
that  you  consider  this  a  plagiarism  on  Swinburne." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Madeleine,  quickly.  "  You  misunderstand 
me  entirely.  I  only  mean  that  there  is  something  in  it  which 
suggests  his  style ;  but  there  is  also  much  in  it  which  is  original 
— so  much  that  is  graceful  and  charming — that  I  should  like  to 
see  this  suggestion  of  resemblance  removed." 

"  Oh,  the  thing  is  not  worth  recasting  altogether,  as  I  should 
have  to  do,"  said  Gordon,  drawing  the  sheets  toward  him  and 


EOSES  AND   THORNS.  HI 

beg-'.aniog  to  fold  tlieai  together.  "  Probably  it  is  not  worth 
any  thing  at  all,"  he  added,  with  a  short,  unmirthful  laugh.  "  It 
is  OD.y  a  pity  that  I  have  wasted  so  much  time  over  it." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  !  "  said  Madeleine,  in  a  grieved  tone.  She 
did  not  add  for  what.  If  she  had  spoken  what  was  in  her  mind, 
she  would  have  said,  "  that  I  have  vexed  and  depressed  you." 
But,  even  to  do  away  with  this  vexation  and  depression,  she  could 
not  unsay  her  just  criticism. 

"  It  does  not  matter  at  all,"  said  her  companion,  shuffling  the 
papers  into  his  pocket,  and  rising  with  a  nonchalant  air.  "There 
is  nothing  to  be  sorry  about.  Of  course,  you  couldn't  say  any 
thing  but  what  you  thought. — But  this  summer-house  is  rather 
damp,  I  am  afraid.  Suppose  we  go  back  to  the  roses  ?  They 
are  more  interesting,  after  all." 

*'  Nothing  is  better  or  more  interesting  to  me  than  what  con- 
cerns you,"  said  Madeleine,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  lift- 
ing her  face  to  his,  full  of  affection  and  contrition.  "  Gordon, 
don't — don't  talk  in  that  manner  !  How  shall  I  be  able  to  for- 
give myself  if  I  have  discouraged  you,  or  made  you  doubt  the 
excellence  of  your  work  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  for  me  to  be  discouraged,  perhaps,"  said 
Gordon.  "  Likely  enough,  I  am  a  conceited  fool  to  dream  for  a 
moment  that  I  can  be  any  thing  more  than  an  echo  of  other  men's 
strains." 

"  You  know  I  did  not  mean  that — you  know  I  never  thought 
that !  "  cried  Madeleine.  Tears  sjDrang  to  her  eyes.  What  could 
she  say  ?  Gordon  was  vexed  and  petulant,  and  not  averse  to 
making  her  feel  uncomfortable  ;  but  it  was  also  true  that  his  ever- 
ready  doubt  and  depression  had  fallen  like  a  cloud  upon  him. 
Even  to  himself  he  said,  in  the  soreness  of  his  wounded  self-love, 
that  Madeleine  was  right  to  make  him  understand  that  his  work 
was  utterl}''  worthless,  and  himself  a  presumptuous  plagiarist. 
As  for  Madeleine,  she  saw  that  to  say  any  thing  else  would  only 
make  matters  worse.  And  so  they  went  back  to  the  roses,  with 
a  constraint  between  them  which  took  all  the  brightness  and  fra- 
gTance  out  of  the  evening,  for  one,  at  least. 


112  A   QUESTION  OF   UONOR. 

While  tills  little  scene  was  in  progress  in  the  cedar  summer- 
house,  wbile  James  Champion  was  riding  alone  out  of  the  town 
into  the  lovely,  color-decked  countrj^,  and  Rosalind  was  thinking 
that  her  throat  was  better  and  that  she  was  almost  sorrj"  she  had 
not  gone  with  him,  since  her  room  looked  narrow  and  confined 
with  the  sunlight  shining  on  the  twinkling  ivy-leaves  around 
the  window,  Basil's  quick  step  sounded  on  the  gravel- walk,  and 
Basil's  cheerful  presence  entered  the  room  where  Mrs.  Severn 
was  sitting. 

"  You  are  such  a  famous  house-keeper,  mother,  that  I'm  not 
afraid  to  tell  you  what  I've  done,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  Since 
I  saw  you,  I  have  invited  Mr.  Devereux  to  tea.  I  hope  you 
won't  tell  me  that  I  have  made  a  great  mistake — that  there's  no 
butter  in  the  house,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

"  Invited  Mr.  Devereux  to  tea !  "  said  Mrs.  Severn,  dro]pping 
her  work  into  her  lap.  "  Dear  me,  Basil,  how  much  you  are 
like  your  father !  That  was  his  way  invariably.  In  the  most 
off-hand  manner  he  would  ask  half  a  dozen  gentlemen  to  dinner, 
and  give  me,  perhaps,  half  an  hour's  notice  of  it.  I  often  told 
him  what  some  women  would  have  said  of  such  things  1 " 

"  Then  I  have  made  a  mistake  !  "  said  Basil.  "  I  am  very 
sorry,  but  it  really  never  occurred  to  me  that  the  tea  we  have 
every  evening  was  not  quite  good  enough  for  Mr.  Devereux." 

*'•  I  did  not  say  that  you  had  made  a  mistake,"  answered 
Mrs.  Severn,  beginning  to  fold  her  work  ;  "  only  that  it  was  so 
exactly  like  your  father.  Of  course,  the  tea  is  good  enough, 
though  I  could  have  had  a  better  one  if  you  had  let  me  know  in 
time.  As  it  is,  I'll  see  what  Becky  can  do,  and  get  out  the  old 
china."- 

So  it  came  to  pass  that,  w^hen  Madeleine  came  in  from  the 
garden  with  her  hands  full  of  roses,  she  found  Basil  lounging  in 
the  hall  with  a  newspaper,  and  heard  that  Mr.  Devereux  was 
expected  to  tea.  She  looked  amazed  at  this  intelligence,  and 
Lacy,  who  was  with  her,  uttered  a  low  whistle.  "  You  must 
have  altered  your  opinion  of  that  gentleman,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  yes,"  replied  Severn,  candidly.     *'  I  have  altered  mj 


ROSES  AXD   THORNS.  II3 

02:)inion  a  little.     I  don't  clearly  know  \yliat  to  make  of  him  ;  but 
there's  no  harm  in  asking  him  to  tea." 

"  None  at  all,"  said  Madeleine,"  since  Arabian  hospitality  has 
fortunately  gone  out  of  fashion.  As  soon  as  I  have  put  my 
flowers  in  water,  I  must  tell  Rosalind.  What  a  pity  she  is  sick ! 
I  have  an  idea  that  she  would  enjoy  meeting  Mr.  Devereux." 

Putting  the  flowers  in  water  was  not  much  of  a  task  to  such 
practised  fingers  as  hers.  She  filled  every  vase  and  hanging 
basket ;  then,  leaving  the  drawing-room  full  of  perfume  and  soft 
evening  light,  ran  up  to  Rosalind*^  chamber.  To  her  surprise,  she 
found  that  young  lady  standing  before  her  mirror,  evidently  en- 
gaged in  making  a  toilet.  Her  hair  was  coiffed,  and  she  was 
putting  the  finishing  touches  to  some  light  curls  about  her  fore- 
head w^hen  her  sister  entered. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  the  latter  asked.  "  Is  it  possible 
you  are  thinking  of  coming  down  this  evening  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  only  thinking  of  it,  but  I  am  preparing  for  it," 
Rosalind  answered,  looking  closely  and  critically  at  herself  in 
the  mirror.  "  You  would  not  wonder,  if  you  were  as  tired  of 
this  room  as  I  am !  " 

"  But  how  is  your  throat  ?  and  are  you  sure  that  you  are  not 
feverish  now  ?     Let  me  feel  your  pulse." 

"  My  throat  is  better,  and  my  fever  is  all  gone,"  said  Rosa- 
lind, extending  a  pretty  white  wrist  for  examination.  "  I  am 
almost  sorry  I  did  not  go  to  ride  with  James.  But  I  felt  lazy, 
and  my  head  ached  just  then." 

"  Has  Mr.  Champion  been  here  this  afternoon  ?  "  asked  Made- 
line. Instantly  her  mind  flashed  to  a  possible  contingency. 
"In  that  case,  Rosalind — since  you  did  not  see  him — I  do  not 
think  you  ought  to  come  down,"  she  said.  "  It  will  seem 
strange." 

"  Whv  should  it  seem  strano-e  ?  "  demanded  Rosalind.  "  Can- 
not  one's  feelings  change  ?  James  is  not  so  absurdly  unreason- 
able as  to  think  any  thing  of  my  enjoying  the  lively  pleasure  of 
my  domestic  circle  because  I  was  not  able  to  see  him." 

"  But  it  will  not  be  your  domestic  circle — at  least  not  exclu- 


114  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

sivel}'',"  said  Madeleine.     Basil  has  just  told  us  that  he  has  asked 
Mr.  Devereux  to  tea." 

"  Mr.  Devereux ! "  repeated  Rosalind.  She  turned  round 
with  the  liveliest  surprise  imprinted  on  her  face.  "Are  you  in 
earnest,  Madeleine?  How  very  singular!  Why,  it  was  only 
yesterday  Basil  was  angry  with  Helen  Champion  because  she 
wanted  to  know  Mr.  Devereux  !  " 

"  I  don't  exactly  understand  Basil's  change  of  sentiment," 
'said  Madeleine.     "  But  the  fact  remains — Mr.  Devereux  has  been 
asked  to  tea ;  and,  therefore,  since  you   declined  to  see  James 
Champion,  I  think  you  had  better  not  come  down." 

*'  James  ought  to  be  much  obliged  to  you  for  j^our  considera- 
tion of  his  feelings,"  said  Rosalind  ;  "  but  as  for  me,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly come  down  now  that  I  hear  Mr.  Devereux  is  expected.  I 
would  not  miss  the  opportunity  of  seeing  him  "  ("  and  being 
seen,"  she  might  have  added),  "  for  any  thing.  Besides,  James  is 
not  likely  to  hear  about  it." 

"  People  always  hear  about  such  things  ;  and  you  must  con- 
fess that  it  will  seem — " 

"  I  shall  confess  nothing,"  interrupted  Rosalind,  pettishly. 
"  It  is  against  my  principles,  and  the  matter  does  not  appear  to 
me  of  sufficient  importance  to  have  any  seeming  at  all.  I  am 
coming  down,  and  that  is  the  end  of  it." 

She  turned  back  to  her  toilet  with  an  air  of  decision,  and 
Madeleine  said  no  more.  Perhaps  she  might  have  uttered  a 
stronger  remonstrance  if  she  had  been  aware  that,  besides  de- 
clining to  go  to  ride,  Rosalind  had  excused  herself  from  seeing 
Champion  that  evening.  But  Rosalind  kept  the  latter  fact  to 
herself.  It  did  not  disquiet  her  at  all.  James  would  not  hear 
of  her  being  down,  or,  if  he  did,  she  could  easily  smoothe  the 
matter  over  to  him.  She  had  a  firm  belief  in  her  power  of  smooth 
ing  matters  over  whenever  she  chose  to  do  so. 


MR.  DEVEREUX  ENTERS  SOCIETY.  115 


CHAPTER    XI. 

MR.  DEVEKEUX   ENTEES    SOCIETY. 

An  hour  later  Mr.  Devereux  arrived,  and  was  sliown  into  the 
drawing-room  where  the  family  were  assembled.  The  windows 
were  open,  for  the  weather  had  softened  to  almost  summer 
warmth,  and  the  gas  was  burning  low  in  the  large  chandelier.  A 
fragrance  of  roses  filled  the  room,  day  was  dying  away  in  purple 
softness  outside,  in  all  nooks  and  corners  shadows  hung.  Made- 
leine rose  from  the  piano,  the  ivory  key-board  of  which  gleamed 
behind  her,  as  he  entered.  Rosalind  was  sitting  in  a  deep,  lux- 
urious chair  just  where  the  light  from  the  chandelier  fell  most 
broadly.  Basil  came  forward  to  meet  and  present  him  to  Mrs. 
Severn,  wdio  extended  her  hand  with  a  great  deal  of  kindly 
grace. 

"  I  knew  your  mother  very  well  when  she  was  the  beautiful 
Miss  Mansfield,  Mr.  Devereux,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  happy  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  her  son.  Will  you  let  me  claim  the 
privilege  of  my  years  and  say  that  j^ou  look  very  much  like 
her  ?  " 

"You  overpower  me  madam,"  said  Devereux,  bowing.  "I 
fear  that  your  memory  is  kinder  than  I  deserve." 

As  he  spoke  his  eye  took  in  the  whole  picture  of  the  room, 
and  he  even  recognized  Lacy  as  the  hero  of  the  little  scene  on 
the  portico,  which  still  dwelt  in  his  memor3\  When  he  was  pre- 
sented to  Rosalind,  she  looked  up  smiling  and  blushing. 

"  You  must  let  me  thank  you  again  for  pulling  me  out  of  the 
water,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  tormented  all  day  with  the 
recollection  of  my  ungrateful  conduct  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  You  were  not  ungrateful,"  he  answered.  "  But  I  feared 
that  you  would  suffer  for  your  wetting,  and  I  am  relieved  to  see 
you  so  well." 

"  She  is  not  so  well  as  she  looks,"  Mrs.  Severn  said.     "  She 


116  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

lias  been  confined  to  her  room  all  day,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  it 
is  prudent  for  her  to  be  out  of  it  now." 

"My  throat  is  sore,"  said  Rosalind,  clasping  that  round 
white  column  in  her  delicate  fingers  as  she  met  Devereux's 
glance.     "But  that  is  not  of  much  consequence." 

"  I  should  think  that  it  was  of  a  great  deal  of  consequence," 
answered  he,  with  a  very  warm  tone  of  interest  in  his  voice. 
Then  he  turned  to  Madeleine :  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard  that  I 
was  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  the  cause  of  this  sore  throat?"  he 
said. 

"  On  the  contrar}^,  I  thought  that  you  played  the  part  of 
rescuer,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile. 

"  It  was  generous  of  you  to  tell  no  more  than  that,"  he  said, 
turning  again  to  Rosalind.  Then  he  related  the  story  of  his 
share  in  the  incident — coloring  it  according  to  the  fashion  of 
raconteurs — and  by  the  time  he  had  finished,  and  they  had  all 
laughed  over  it,  the  stiffness  of  new  acquaintance  seemed  to 
have  vanished. 

As  has  been  said  before,  however,  it  was  almost  imjoossible  to 
be  stiff  with  Devereux  very  long.  The  ease  of  his  manner  in- 
spired ease  in  others,  and  Rosalind  in  especial  was  delighted 
with  him.  Seldom,  in  the  course  of  her  short  and  uneventful 
experience,  had  she  seen  a  man  so  entirely  according  to  the  fash- 
ion of  her  own  taste.  She  regarded  him  with  approval  from  the 
crown  of  his  blond  head  to  the  tip  of  his  unexcejotionable  boot, 
and  exerted  herself  for  him — exerted  herself  to  attract,  to  please, 
to  impress  him  with  the  unusual  nature  of  lier  gifts — as  she  nev- 
er exerted  herself  for  any  man  of  Stansbury,  not  even  for  James 
Champion,  whom  she  had  promised  to  marry.  It  would  have 
been  strange  if  she  had  not  succeeded  in  her  object.  It  would 
have  been  strange  if  Devereux  had  not  been  inpressed  with  her 
brightness  and  her  cleverness — for  Rosalind  was  abundantly 
gifted  with  that  adaptive  quickness  which  is  quite  apart  from 
intellectual  power,  or  any  great  degree  of  intellectual  culture. 
Then  her  beauty  grew  upon  him.  The  more  he  studied  her 
face,  the  more  certain  he  felt  that  he  had  never  before  seen  such 


MR.  DEVEREUX   ENTERS   SOCIETY.  117 

perfection  of  coloring  united  to  such  delicate  regularity  of  feat- 
ure. Her  manner,  too,  was  singularly  good  for  a  village-bred 
maiden.  It  was  true  that  lie  detected  at  once  the  dash  of  co- 
quetrj^  in  it,  and  this  coquetry  had  not  the  chic  which  a  beauty 
of  the  world  would  have  given,  but  it  was  subordinate  to  good 
taste — which  is  more  than  can  always  be  said  for  the  cliic  in  ques- 
tion. Of  vivacity  she  had  just  enough  to  please  without  offending. 
Devereux  was  fastidious,  and  a  woman  who  laughed  too  much, 
or  who  pitched  her  voice  in  too  loud  a  key,  would  have  jarred 
on  his  taste  if  she  had  been  a  Hebe.  But  Rosalind,  though  she 
smiled  often,  laughed  seldom,  and  no  man  could  have  found 
fault  with  the  low,  sweet  peal  of  that  laughter  when  it  came. 

It  need  not  be  supposed  that  these  observations,  on  either 
side,  were  made  at  once.  They  were  extended  over  a  consider- 
able length  of  time,  for  Devereux  could  not  monopolize  Rosa- 
lind's, nor  Rosalind  Devereux's  attention.  The  Severns  were 
well-bred  people,  and  they  understood  the  rare  art  of  sustaining 
general  conversation. 

If  the  little  group  had  been  sociable  in  the  drawing-room, 
they  became  still  more  so  when  gathered  round  the  tea-table. 
It  was  true  that  something  of  a  cloud  still  hung  over  Gordon ;  but 
only  Madeleine's  eyes  perceived  this,  and  Rosalind  was  in  bright 
enough  spirits  to  have  atoned  for  half  a  dozen  misjudged  poets. 
When  they  returned  to  the  di^awing-room,  Devereux  walked 
to  the  piano,  and  taking  up  a  sheet  of  music  asked  if  she 
sang. 

"  What  shall  I  say  ? "  she  laughed  in  reply.  "  You  will 
think  me  hopelessly  commonplace  if  I  answer  '  a  little,'  and  I 
cannot  in  conscience  answer  '  a  o-reat  deal.'  " 

"  Do  not  answer  at  all,  then,"  he  said,  "  but  let  me  hear  vou 
and  judge  for  myself  whether  it  is  a  little  or  a  great  deal." 

"  I  would  do  so  with  pleasure  if  it  were  not  for  my  throat, 
but,  before  I  had  sung  three  bars,  mamma  would  interfere,  and 
send  me  away  to  gargle  with  red  pepper  and  sage-tea." 

"  In  view  of  such  a  penalty  it  is  impossible  to  press  the 
point,"  he  said,  smiling ;  "  but  you  seem  to  have  an  excellent 


118  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

collection  of  music  here.  We  can  look  over  the  songs,  can  we 
not  ?  Then  you  can  tell  me  what  you  like  best,  and  I  can  hope 
to  hear  them  another  time." 

Rosalind  willingly  agreed  to  this,  and  contracted  her  dra- 
pery in  the  most  obliging  manner  to  make  room  for  him  and  the 
music  portfolio  which  he  brought,  on  the  sofa  by  her  side.  It 
is  unnecessary  to  describe  how  they  looked  when  they  were 
seated  with  their  heads  bent  together  over  the  open  pages, 
which  tliey  shared  between  them.  We  have  all  witnessed  such 
scenes,  and  we  all  know  that,  however  innocent  they  may  be  in 
fact  or  intent,  they  have  but  one  significance  to  the  general  eye, 
and  that  significance  is — flirtation.  To  add  to  this  appearance, 
the  pair  in  question  were  quite  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, w^ho  were  grouped  around  a  table  immediately  under  the 
chandelier.  Mrs.  Severn's  crochet-needles  were  at  work ;  Made- 
leine, Lacy,  and  Basil  were  discussing  the  siege  of  Paris.  "  That 
is  a  thing  which  is  hackneyed  past  endurance  !  "  said  Devereux, 
turning  over  the  pages  of  a  well-known  serenade,  and  Rosalind 
lauo-hed. 

"  If  3'ou  are  critical  and  classical,"  she  said,  "  I  certainly 
shall  not  sing  for  you.  But  here  is  something  good  ! — don't 
you  like  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  a  tenor  song — 3'ou  don't  sing  it,  surely  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  but  Gordon  yonder  does.  He  has  a  charming 
voice." 

"  Gordon  !  Do  you  mean  Mr.  Lacy  ? "  asked  Devereux, 
glancing  across  the  room.  "  He  looks  like  a  tenor.  Is  he  " 
— hesitation  for  a  moment — "  is  he  related  to  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  but  I  have  known  him  all  my  life,  and  he  is 
engaged  to  Madeleine." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Devereux.  He  glanced  at  Lacy  again — 
more  critically  this  time.  -As  he  did  so,  a  sharp  peal  of  the 
door-bell  echoed  through  the  house,  and  Rosalind  started. 
"  Who  can  that  be  ? "  she  said,  and,  as  her  companion's  eyes 
returned  to  her,  he  noticed  that  the  flush  on  her  face  had  deej^- 
ened. 


MR.  DEYEREUX   ENTERS  SOCIETY.  119 

"  Is  she  expecting  somebody,  or  dreading  somebody  ? "  he 
thought — and  just  then  there  was  a  sound  of  voices,  a  rustle 
of  silk,  and  two  ladies  swept  into  the  room.  Rosalind  recog- 
nized them  in  a  moment :  they  were  the  Champions,  mother  and 
daughter. 

"  Pity  me  !  "  she  said,  with  a  little  trill  of  laughter — under 
which,  however,  a  cadence  of  perturbation  might  have  been 
heard — "  yonder  are  two  people  who  have  come  expecting  to 
find  me  in  bed,  with  gargles  and  foot-baths.     Listen  ! " 

"  Good-evening,  Mrs.  Severn,"  Mrs.  Champion  was  saying, 
in  a  deep  bass  voice  w^hich  suited  her  remarkably  imposing  and 
masculine  appearance.  "  How  do  you  do  ?  Here  I  am  at  last, 
you  see.  I  have  been  intending  to  come  for  a  long  time,  but 
my  intentions  don't  bear  fruit  very  well,  and  I  should  not  be 
here  now  if  James  had  not  returned  this  evening  full  of  concern 
about  Rosalind's  illness  ;  so  I  told  Helen  we  w^ould  walk  over 
and  see  how  she  is.     I  hope  her  sickness  is  not  serious." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all !  I  am  glad  to  say  that  she  is  a  great  deal 
better,"  Mrs.  Severn  began,  with  some  embarrassment,  when 
Miss  Chamj^ion,  whose  eyes  were  sharper  than  her  mother's, 
arrested  her  by  an  exclamation. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  she  said.  "  ^^bj,  yonder  is  Rosalind,  now — 
and  looking  quite  as  well  as  ever  !  I  think  we  have  had  our 
walk  for  our  pains,  mamma,  if  we  came  to  see  an  invalid.'''' 

"  Rosalind  is  better  this  evening,  but  she  has  been  very  un- 
well during  the  day,"  said  Madeleine,  as  Mrs.  Champion  turned 
sharply  round,  and  brought  her  eye-glass  to  bear  on  the  ttte-d- 
tete  of  the  sofa,  for  Rosalind  had  not  disembarrassed  herself  suf- 
ficiently from  the  litter  of  loose  music  to  rise.  She  did  so,  the 
next  moment,  however,  and  came  forward  with  a  smile  which 
might  have  propitiated  the  sternest  of  prospective  mothers-in- 
law. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  come  to  see  me,  dear  Mrs.  Cham- 
pion !  "  she  said.  "  You  must  not  lose  sympathy  with  my  sick- 
ness because  you  see  me  down  here.  I  really  have  not  been 
shamming — though  I  won't  say  that  I   might  not  have  been 


120  A   QUESTION   OF  UONOK. 

tempted  to  do  so  if  I  had  thought  tliut  it  vrould  bring  you  1  I 
have  had  a  very  bad  cold  and  fever  all  day — liave  I  not,  mam- 
ma ? — and  my  throat  is  very  sore  yet." 

"  You  certainly  do  not  look  as  if  you  had  been  sick,"  said 
Mrs.  Champion,  coldly.  She  gave  a  comprehensive  glance  as 
she  spoke,  which  took  in  every  thing — every  tasteful  detail  of 
Rosalind's  toilet,  the  handsome  stranger  in  the  background, 
the  open  piano,  and  the  scattered  music.  "  I  am  sorry  we  in- 
terrupted you,"  she  added,  stiffly.  "  Probably  you  were  sing- 
ing for  that  gentleman.  Don't  let  me  interrupt  you — I  will 
talk  to  your  mother." 

"  Singing !  "  repeated  Rosalind.  "  How  could  I  sing  when 
I  can  scarcely  talk  ?  It  is  only  by  chance  that  I  am  down.  I 
felt  a  little  better  after  James  left,  and  I  was  so  tired  of  my 
room.  That  gentleman  is  Basil's  guest — not  mine. — Mamma, 
had  you  not  better  introduce  him  to  Mrs.  Champion  ?  " 

"  He  is  Mr.  Devereux,"  said  Mrs.  Severn,  in  a  low  and  rather 
deprecating  tone.  Basil  had  crossed  the  room  and  was  speak- 
ing to  Devereux,  so  she  was  secure  of  not  being  overheard. 
"  Basil  thought  it  would  be  only  civil  to  pay  him  some  atten- 
tion. If  you  have  no  objection,  I  should  like  to  introduce  him 
to  you.  He  is  very  pleasing,  and  I  suppose  you  remember  his 
mother — the  great  beauty.  Miss  Mansfield." 

"  I  am  really  surprised  at  Mr.  Severn,"  said  Mrs.  Champion, 
almost  indignantl3\  "  James  has  no  opinion  whatever  of  Mr. 
Devereux,  and  thinks  it  is  quite  wrong  to  countenance  him. 
Since  he  is  in  your  house,  Mrs.  Severn,  I  can't  refuse  to  allow 
him  to  be  introduced." 

"  So  you  have  the  distinguished  stranger  !  "  Miss  Champion 
was,  meanwhile,  saying  to  Madeleine.  "  Now,  I  call  this  lib- 
eral conduct  in  Mr,  Severn — better  than  glowering,  as  Brother 
James  does  when  one  says  that  one  should  like  to  know 
him." 

"  Is  it  possible  the  king  can  do  wrong,  in  your  eyes.  Miss 
Helen  ?  "  Lacy  asked.     "  Is  not  Champion's  frown  your  law?  " 

"  Oh,  no — only  Rosalind's,"  answered  that  3^oung  lady,  ami- 


MR.  ^EYEREUX  ENTERS  SOCIETY.  121 

ably.  "  I  wonder  what  he  will  say,  by-the-by,  when  he  hears 
that,  although  she  was  too  sick  to  see  him^  she  could  come  down 
to  flirt  with  Mr.  Devereux  1 " 

This  was  a  sotto  voce  remark,  which  Lacy,  in  the  same  tone, 
answered : 

"  You  are  mistaken  about  the  flirting.  We  had  only  come 
in  from  tea  a  few  minutes  before  you  arrived.  Don't  judge  too 
hastily  from  appearances.  They  are  sometimes  deceptive,  you 
know." 

Miss  Champion  elevated  her  black  eyebrows  significantly. 
"  They  don't  deceive  me  1 "  was  what  that  expressive  gesture 
said.  Like  her  mother,  she  noted  every  adorning  ribbon  which 
Rosalind  wore,  as  she  had  already  noted  the  scene  by  the  piano. 
There  is  an  old  and  very  sensible  adage  about  setting  a  thief  to 
catch  a  thief,  and  the  same  rule  holds  good  about  many  other 
things — flirting,  among  the  rest. 

After  Devereux  had  been  presented  to  the  two  ladies,  a  little 
conversation  ensued,  but  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things  that 
this  should  last  very  long.  Mrs.  Champion  put  Rosalind  through 
a  severe  cross-examination  with  regard  to  her  indisposition,  and 
then,  turning  to  Mrs.  Severn,  she  began  discussing  the  difl'erent 
modes  of  treating  colds  and  the  maladies  which  under  given  cir- 
cumstances might  arise  from  them.  Rosalind,  as  in  duty  bound, 
sat  in  attendance  on  this  instructive  conversation,  bearing  her 
martyrdom  with  outward  decorum,  and  only  casting  a  slight,  en- 
vious glance  now  and  then  at  the  group  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table. 

To  say  that  Miss  Qiampion  was  the  most  brilliant  spirit  of 
this  group  would  express  very  little  of  the  conversational  po^vtr 
which  that  j^oung  lady  was  pleased  to  exert,  inspired  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  three  masculine  listeners,  each  of  whom  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  convert  into  an  admirer.  Although 
it  may  be  supposed  that  she  was  already  certain  of  Basil's  ad- 
miration, it  may  be  added  that  few  women  of  her  class  do  not 
iike  to  rivet  fresh  fetters  even  on  an  assured  slave ;  and  of  Ba- 
sil's slavery  Miss  Champion  had  never  vet  received  anv  satisfac- 


122  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

tory  assurance.  With  regard  to  Lacj,  she  had  once  considered 
him  an  admirer,  and  he  had  deserted  her  standard.  This  had 
piqued  her  a  little  at  the  time ;  but,  since  she  had  been  from  home 
and*  had  heard  of  him  as  something  of  a  celebrity,  j3ique  had 
changed  into  a  resolution  to  win  him  back  again,  if  such  winning 
were  at  all  possible.  As  for  Devereux,  it  was  not  to  be  expected 
that  a  young  lady  fresli  from  fashionable  society  would  be  more 
blind  to  his  attractions,  or  look  on  him  with  less  favor,  than  Kos- 
alind  had  displayed.  In  the  effusive  language  of  her  class.  Miss 
Champion  w^as  "charmed"  with  him,  and  she  arched  her  eye- 
brows and  showed  her  white  teeth,  and  gesticulated  with  her 
ringed  and  braceleted  hands,  more  for  his  benefit  than  that  of 
any  one  else. 

Instead  of  having  their  due  effect,  however,  these  efi'orts  were 
more  wasted  on  him  than  on  either  of  the  others.  His  taste  was 
fastidious,  and  Miss  Champion  was  not  according  to  the  standard 
of  that  taste.  She  was  a  commonplace  specimen  of  the  genus 
"  young  lad}","  he  thought ;  passably  fine-looking,  and  exceed- 
ingly talkative,  but  not  at  ail  attractive.  If  civility  had  sanc- 
tioned such  a  proceeding,  he  would  have  looked  as  he  felt,  very 
muoh  bored,  under  the  steady  flow  of  her  animated  conversation. 
As  it  was,  he  took  advantage  of  the  first  opportunity — when  she 
was  addressing  herself  especially  to  Lacy — and  turned  to  Made- 
leine. A  small  photograph  in  a  standing  frame  on  the  table  near 
which  they  were  sitting  at  once  furnished  a  convenient  subject 
of  conversation,  for,  drawing  it  toward  him,  he  saw  that  it  was 
a  likeness  of  Mary  Carlisle. 

"  How  excellent !  "  he  said — for  the  sun  had  indeed  caught 
with  singular  fidelity  the  pathetic  charm  of  that  sw^eet  counte- 
nance— "I  have  never  seen  a  better  likeness  produced  by  me- 
chanical art." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  good,"  said  Madeleine,  "  but  scarcely  does 
Mary  justice,  I  think." 

"  Justice  is  so  hard  a  thing  to  obtain,"  he  answ^ered,  "that  it 
is  not  strange  that  photography  should  fail  in  rendering  it  to 
Buck  a  face  as  Miss  Carlisle's.     Her  features  are  none  of  them 


MR.  DEYEREUX  ENTERS  SOCIETY.  123 

very  distinctly  marked,  nor  are  there  any  striking  contrasts  in 
her  coloring".  The  charm  of  the  face  is  in  its  exquisite  expres- 
sion— and  that  is  here." 

"Yes,"  said  Madeleine,  " it  is  there — though  expression  is 
usually  the  last  thing  which  photography  is  able  to  reproduce. 
I  have  often  thought  that  it  is  to  the  face  what  the  soul  is  to  the 
body." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  Devereux,  looking  at  her  with  a 
smile,  "  and  it  is  a  verv  candid  and  beautiful  soul  which  shines 
in  Miss  Carlisle's  face.  May  I  venture  to  say  how  much  I  was 
attracted  by  her?"  he  went  on,  after  a  short  pause.  "I  have 
rarely  in  my  life  been  more  surprised,  and  never,  I  am  sure,  more 
charmed,  than  by  her  appearance  and  manner." 

"  She  is  very  charming,"  said  Madeleine.  The  frankness  with 
which  he  spoke  disarmed  suspicion,  and  yet  at  that  moment  the 
fears  on  which  Basil  had  dwelt,  the  day  before,  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  her.  They  seemed  absurd,  however,  as  she  regarded  the 
face  before  her.  Though  people  might  differ  very  widely  about 
every  other  point  in  Devereux's  personal  appearance,  it  was  not 
possible  for  any  one  to  say  that  he  looked  like  a  "  scheming  ad- 
venturer." So,  after  a  moment,  she  added :  "  I  am  sure  there  is 
not  in  the  world  a  nobler  nature  or  a  more  tender  heart  than 
that  of  Mary;  and  it  saddens  me  to  think  what  she  might  have 
been  but  for  the  great  misfortune  which  has  shut  her  off  from 
active  life." 

"  But  without  that  she  would  have  been  just  like  other  wom- 
en," said  Devereux.  "  Now,  she  seems  to  stand  apart,  marked 
off,  as  it  were,  by  the  sacredness  of  great  afSiction. 

"  If  you  are  regarding  her  poetically,  that  is  true.  But,  apart 
from  poetry,  her  life  is  a  very  sad  one." 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  spoken  too  lightly,"  said  he,  gravely. 
"  I  hope  you  do  not  think  that  I  fail  to  realize  the  greatness  of 
her  misfortune.  I  was  inexpressibly  touched  by  the  mere  sight 
of  her  eyes.  And  there  was  something  of  the  same  feeling  in 
the  gracious  sweetness  of  her  manner.  One  felt  as  if 
'  Saint  by  her  face  she  should  be,  with  such  looks.'  " 


124  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

Madeleine  smiled.  "  I  am  glad  tliat  you  appreciate  Mary," 
she  said.  "  It  is  not  every  one  who  does.  You  are  very  kind 
to  overlook  the  distrust  Avith  which  she  met  you,"  she  added, 
thinking  that  she  would  sound  a  little  in  the  unknown  waters 
of  his  intentions  and  desires. 

"  There  was  nothing  to  overlook,"  he  answered.  "  The 
courtesy  of  Miss  Carlisle's  reception  was  exquisite,  and  as  for 
the  distrust — it  would  have  been  very  unjust  to  blame  her  for 
that." 

"  You  seem  to  have  conquered  it  altogether." 

"  Did  I  ?  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Miss  Carlisle  is  an 
uncommon  woman,  or  I  should  not  have  conquered  it  so  soon. 
Forgive  me  if  I  say  that  women  are  generally  more  prejudiced, 
and  more  tenacious  in  maintaining  prejudice,  than  men." 

"  Because  they  are  less  reasonable  ?  "  asked  Madeleine,  with 
her  arch,  sweet  smile. 

"  I  am  sure  yon  are  reasonable  enough  to  forgive  me  again 
if  I  answer  yes,"  said  Devereux,  attracted  by  her  manner,  her 
face,  her  voice,  as  he  had  been  attracted  from  the  first.  It  was 
a  different  attraction  altogether  from  that  of  Rosalind's  grace- 
ful beauty,  and  yet  not  half  so  easy  to  analyze.  He  felt  un- 
consciously that  there  was  something  magnetic  about  this  wom- 
an, but  let  no  one  suppose  that  it  was  a  magnetism  akin  to  the 
tender  passion.  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth 
than  are  dreamed  of  in  our  narrow  philosophy.  Sometimes  we 
walk  with  angels  unawares,  but  again  the  soul  rises  up  as  if  to 
greet  the  presence  which  is  to  work  it  great  ill  or  greater  good. 

"  You  must  not  expect  me  to  turn  State's  evidence,"  said 
Madeleine,  shaking  her  head.  "  Men  are  very  unreasonable 
sometimes — and  very  prejudiced,  too." 

"  Granted  with  all  my  heart,"  responded  Devereux.  Rosa- 
lind, who  was  watching  him  closely  without  appearing  to  do  so 
(a  faculty  some  women  possess),  wondered  what  he  was  talking 
about  that  interested  him  so  much,  and  decided  to  question  her 
sister  as  soon  as  practicable.  Just  then  Miss  Champion  rose, 
with  a  rustle  of  her  silken  skirts. 


MR.  DEVEREUX   ENTERS   SOCIETY.  125 

"  Mr.  Lacy  iusists  on  my  singiDg,"  she  said  to  Madeleine. 
*'  It  is  true  I  am  rather  out  of  practice,  and  I  have  not  my  notes, 
but  still  one  likes  to  be  obliging. — Mr.  Devereux,  do  you  sing  ? 
If  so,  I  give  you  warning  that  I  am  beating  my  drum  for  re- 
cruits for  a  musical  and  dramatic  club  I  am  endeavoring  to 
organize,  and  that  I  should  be  happy  to  enlist  you." 

"  Unfortunately,  I  have  no  claim  to  enter  such  a  service," 
said  Devereux,  bowing.  "  I  am  so  entirely  destitute  of  musical 
or  dramatic  ability,  that  T  am  only  able  to  appreciate  the  ex- 
cellence of  others  in  either  respect." 

"  You  are  too  modest,"  said  she.  "  I  always  suspect  such 
extreme  modesty.  Have  you  really  no  musical  knowledge  ? — 
have  you  never  acted  ?  " 

A  short  catechism  on  his  accomplishments  ensued — for  the 
organization  of  her  club  was  very  near,  indeed,  to  Miss  Cham- 
pion's heart — which  revealed  a  most  startling  degree  of  igno- 
rance on  Mr.  Devereux's  part,  though  it  was  plain  that  his  cat- 
echist  regarded  this  ignorance  with  suspicion.  "  He  knows  a 
great  deal  more  than  he  pretends,"  she  said,  indignantly,  when 
she  went  at  last  to  the  piano  with  Lacy.  *'  He  is  conceited, 
and  thinks  the  amusements  of  a  country  town  beneath  his  dig- 
nity. I  shall  let  him  alone.  He  is  disagreeable  and  supercili- 
ous." 

The  gentleman  thus  described  fell  under  the  odium  of  still 
further  disgrace  by  taking  leave  immediately  after  her  first  song. 
As  he  parted  with  Basil  on  the  portico,  the  latter  hospitably 
gave  him  a  general  invitation.  "  We  shall  always  be  glad  to 
see  you,"  he  said ;  and  Devereux  replied  with  more  sincerity 
than  the  trite  words  usually  contain :  '*  I  shall  be  very  happy 
to  come,  for  already  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  a  very  pleasant 
evening." 

It  had  been  a  pleasant  evening,  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  walked  slowly  along  under  the  balmy  October  moon  ;  not 
remarkably  enlivening,  but  simply  pleasant.  It  was  an  inter- 
esting family  group,  that  of  the  Severns,  and  the  two  sisters 
were  both  studies  in  their  different  ways.     On  the  other  people 


126  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

whom  he  had  met  he  scarcely  bestowed  a  thought.  Rosalind's 
lovely  face,  Madeleine's  soft  cj'es,  seemed  floating  about  him  in 
the  faint  wreaths  of  his  cigar-smoke.  It  was  an  hour  of  reve- 
rie, lightly  tinged  with  agreeable  fancies,  such  as  we  have  most 
of  us  known.  Nothing  warned  him  that  an  exceptional  time — 
a  transitional  era  of  his  life — had  come.  Nothing  suggested  the 
idea  that,  out  of  the  lives  of  these  people  whom  he  had  so  casu- 
ally met,  many  complications  to  his  own  life  would  result.  He 
walked  on,  enjoying  the  soft  beauty  of  the  autumn  night,  until 
his  cigar  was  smoked  out,  and  his  idle  reverie  ended.  Then 
he  turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  his  hotel,  and  dismissed 
the  claims  of  Stansbury  society  very  summarily  from  his  mind. 
Fortunately,  he  did  not  know  with  what  quiet  but  irresistible 
force  Stansbury  society  had  laid  its  hand  on  him. 


BOOK  II. 

m   WHICH  THE  SHUTTLE  IS  THROWN. 


CHAPTER   I. 


BY     THE     WAYSIDE. 


How  Rosalind  made  her  peace  with  Champion  did  not  trans- 
pire ;  but  that  she  succeeded  in  making  it,  all  those  interested 
had  satisfactory  evidence  when  she  went  to  ride  with  him  a 
day  or  two  after  Mr.  Devereux's  introduction  to  Stansbury  so- 
ciety. It  is  doubtful  if  there  was  any  serious  breach  to  heal. 
Champion  was  not  a  jealous  lover,  nor,  it  may  be  added,  an  un- 
reasonable one.  He  was  also  a  very  proud  man,  too  proud  to 
suspect  duplicity,  especially  in  the  woman  he  loved.  He  was 
hurt  to  think  that  Rosalind  cared  so  little  to  see  him  that  she  had 
not  felt  inclined  to  make  on  his  behalf  the  effort  which  she 
afterward  made  without  any  inducement ;  but  he  did  not  for  a 
moment  question  her  assertion  that  this  effort  had  no  connec- 
tion whatever  with  Mr.  Devereux's  visit.  "  I  was  tired  to  death 
of  my  room,  and  dressing  to  go  down  when  Madeleine  came  to 
tell  me  that  Basil  had  invited  Mr.  Devereux,"  she  said,  with  the 
strictest  regard  to  veracity ;  and  Champion  gave  her  implicit 
faith.  It  was  an  accident,  a  mere  coincidence  ;  yet  a  disagreea- 
ble impression  is  not  always  to  be  banished  at  will,  and  the 
most  reasonable  of  lovers  may  retain  a  slight  sense  of  wounded 
feeling. 

Rosalind,  on  her  part,  was  glad  that  James  was  so  placable. 


128  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

It  emboldened  her  to  think  that  perliaps  the  sameness  of  a  rec- 
ognized engagement  might  be  varied  by  a  spice  of  flirtation 
with  the  handsome  stranger  whom  Fate  had  thrown  in  her  path. 
She  did  not  think  of  more  than  flirtation,  for  Rosalind  had  suf- 
fered too  keenly  from  the  thorns  of  poverty  not  to  appreciate 
the  luxury  of  ease ;  and  she  honestly  meant  to  many  Cham- 
pion. She  liked  him — with  a  sense  of  conscious  virtue  she  told, 
her  mother  that  nothing  would  induce  her  to  make  a  purely 
mercenary  marriage — and  she  doubted  exceedingly  if  it  would 
ever  be  possible  for  her  to  do  better.  If  it  icere  possible — well, 
that  was  a  contingency  which  she  wisely  refrained  from  taking 
into  consideration,  leaving  her  conduct  to  be  swayed  by  future 
events. 

"  Have  you  really  any  idea,"  she  said  to  her  lover,  while 
they  were  riding,  "  that  Mr.  Devereux  may  obtain  the  Carlisle 
property  ?  I  don't  want  you  to  answer  as  the  lawyer  on  the 
other  side,  but  as  a  dispassionate  judge  of  the  matter." 

"  It  is  rather  hard  to  be  dispassionate,"  said  Champion, 
bending  his  brows  a  little.  The  subject  was  distasteful  to  him, 
and,  when  subjects  were  distasteful,  he  generally  put  them  away. 
It  was  impossible  to  put  this  away,  however,  with  Rosalind's 
eyes  demanding  an  answer.  "  Of  course,  there  is  doubt  about 
these  things,"  he  went  on.  "  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say 
positively  that  he  will  not  obtain  it.  If  the  lease  is  proved,  the 
jjroperty  must  revert  to  him." 

"  Can  the  lease  be  proved  ?  " 

"  I  think  not ;  but  I  am  not  infallible." 

"  And  if  the  suit  is  decided  in  his  favor,  he  gains  all  this  ! " 
said  the  girl,  meditatively.  She  pointed  with  her  whip  as  she 
spoke,  at  the  Carlisle  mills  and  factories ;  for  the  road  along 
which  they  were  riding  overlooked  the  lands  in  litigation.  "  It 
is  worth  a  struggle,"  she  added,  as  if  to  herself. 

"  It  is  certainly  worth  a  struggle,"  echoed  Champion,  dry- 
ly, "and  I  shall  leave  no  stone  unturned  in  its  defense.  I 
have  been  very  much  encouraged  by  Devereux's  ofi"er  to  com- 
promise," he  added,  after  a   short  pause.     *'  It  shows  conclu- 


BY   THE   WAYSIDE.  129 

sively  that  lie  feels — or  that  his  lawyer  feels — the  weakness  of 
his  cause." 

Rosalind  said  no  more,  but  her  glance  swept  over  the  scene 
before  her — the  tall  buildings  with  their  chimneys  curling  forth 
clouds  of  white  smoke,  and  the  neat  rows  of  brown  cottages 
w^iich  Basil  had  taken  so  much  pleasure  in  building  for  the  op- 
eratives. It  was  a  small  village  full  of  thrift  and  energy,  show^- 
iug  what  capital  and  labor  guided  by  mind  and  liberality  can 
achieve.  The  fame  of  the  Carlisle  factories  was  well  known, 
and  more  than  once  peojole  interested  in  such  business  had  come 
from  afar,  in  order  to  see  their  excellent  management.  Rosalind 
had  often  regarded  the  j^icture  before,  and  sighed  to  think  how 
useless  all  this  rich  inheritance  was  to  the  sick  girl  who  could 
never  look  on  it — sighed  not  from  sympathy,  but  from  longing. 
"  If  it  were  only  mine !  "  she  had  thought,  trying  to  fancy  what 
a  grand  young  princess  she  would  be  under  such  blissful  cir- 
cumstances. This  castle-building  might  have  seemed  harmless 
enough  to  all  save  a  very  rigorous  moralist,  but  the  seed  of  envy 
which  had  been  the  germ  of  it  expanded  now  and  put  forth  a 
shoot.  "  If  it  could  be  mine  ! "  she  thought,  while,  like  a  flash, 
a  series  of  possible  events  unrolled  before  her — events  which 
almost  dazzled  her  with  their  brightness.  Her  cheek  flushed, 
her  eye  sparkled.  Champion,  who  was  looking  at  her,  thought, 
with  a  thrill  of  pride,  how  beautiful  she  was  !  She  said  to  her- 
self that  it  was  only  a  day-dream,  a  castle  in  the  air,  but  if  it 
could  be — her  thought  went  no  farther  than  this.  She  turned 
to  Champion. 

"  Let  us  have  a  canter,"  she  said.  "  Here  is  an  excellent 
stretch  of  road." 

She  touched  her  horse  as  she  spoke,  and  they  swept  rapidly 
forward  at  that  pleasantest  of  all  pleasant  paces.  The  road,  as 
she  said,  was  excellent — a  white  level  turnpike,  with  purple 
autumn  fields  stretching  on  each  side,  broken  by  belts  of  glow- 
ing autumn  woods.  In  one  of  these  fields  not  far  from  the  road 
they  noticed  a  sportsman  and  his  dogs.  A  covey  of  partridges 
suddenly  flew  into  the  air.     Simultaneously  the  report  of  a  gun 


130  A  QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

rang  out.  Rosalind's  horse  started  violently — a  start  that  would 
have  unseated  an  awkward" rider — then  dashed  into  a  run.  Cham- 
pion followed  fast,  but  there  was  no  need  of  him.  In  less  than 
a  minute  the  young  lady  had  brought  the  would-be  runaway  to 
order,  and  turned  a  flushed,  smiling  face  round  to  greet  her  es- 
cort, as  he  rode  up. 

"  It  was  only  a  little  foolishness  and  fright,"  she  said,  excus- 
ing the  culprit.  "  One  cannot  expect  perfection  in  horses  any 
more  than  in  people  ;  and  that  shot  was  xiery  near !  " 

"  It  was  unpardonably  careless  in  the  man  to  discharge  his 
gun  just  as  you  were  passing  ! "  said  Champion.  "  He  might 
have  caused  a  very  serious  accident — would  have  done  so  cer- 
tainly if  you  were  not  such  an  excellent  rider." 

"  It  was  careless,  but  you  see  there  is  no  harm  done,"  said 
she.  "  I  wonder  who  it  was  ?  He  ought  to  give  me  that  par- 
tridge. I  like  partridges.  Hold  my  rein  for  a  moment,  please, 
while  I  put  up  my  hair." 

Champion  held  the  rein,  and  watched  with  a  pleasant  sense 
of  proprietary  admiration  the  pretty  hands  that  looped  the 
bronze-brown  curls  back  to  their  place,  "  I  have  lost  nearly  all 
my  hair-pins,"  she  said  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  as  she  finally  set- 
tled her  hat  and  drew  on  her  gloves  again.  "  I  shall  give  you  a 
box  of  them  to  put  in  your  pocket  the  next  time  we  come  out. 
It  is  always  well  to  be  provided  for  emergencies.  Now  let  us 
move  on — look !  is  not  that  Mary  Carlisle's  pony-carriage  yon- 
der ?     And  Mary  herself  is  in  it,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  carriage — and  Miss  Carlisle  is  in  it,"  answered 
Champion,  following  the  direction  of  her  eyes  with  his  own. 
Around  a  bend  of  the  road  the  carriage  had  appeared,  and  was 
now  advancing  rapidly  toward  them — the  sun  shining  brightly 
on  the  sleek  coats  of  the  ponies,  the  glancing  wdieels  of  the 
phaeton  and  the  gayly-striped  wrap  which  covered  the  dresses  of 
the  tw^o  figures  seated  within. 

One  of  them  was  Miss  Carlisle,  as  Rosalind  had  perceived. 
The  other  was  Jessie  Holme,  sitting  bolt  upright  and  driving  with 
the  utmost  skill  and  care.  She  recognized  the  equestrians  at  once. 


BY   THE   WAYSIDE.  131 

"Here's  Miss  Rosalind  Severn  and  Mr.  Champion  coming  to 
meet  us,  Miss  Mary,"  she  said.  "Do  you  want  to  stop  and 
speak  to  them  ?  " 

"  Fes,"  answered  Mary,  "  you  can  stop  for  a  minute." 

So,  as  the  two  parties  came  abreast,  there  was  a  pause,  and 
an  exchange  of  salutations  and  inquiries.  Mary  asked  if  Rosa- 
lind had  recovered  from  her  cold.  "I  w^as  afraid  you  would  be 
quite  sick  after  such  a  wetting,"  she  said. 

"  It  was  not  much  of  a  wetting,"  said  Rosalind,  who  did  not 
like  allusions  to  her  accident.  "  The  affair  was  more  ridiculous 
than  serious.  I  have  quite  recovered,  except  for  a  little  sore- 
throat.  You  are  looking  well,  Mary,"  she  went  on.  "  What  a 
lovely  color  you  have  !  has  she  not,  James  ?  " 

"Very  good  indeed,"  said  Champion,  who  never  paid  com- 
pliments— "  You  are  looking  exceedingly  well,"  he  added,  ad- 
dressing directly  the  blind  girl,  for  whom  even  he  had  a  peculiar 
regard.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  it.  You  must  not  let  yourself 
be  worried  by  business-matters.  They  Avill  all  come  right  in  the 
end." 

"  I  am  not  worrying  at  all,"  said  Mary — into  whose  usually 
pale  cheeks  the  warm  air  and  rapid  motion  had  indeed  brought 
a  delicate  carmine  tinge — "  I  am  quite  content  to  rely  on  Basil 
and  yourself.  You  must  let  me  congratulate  you,"  she  went  on, 
with  a  smile.  "  You  are  both  very  happy,  are  you  not  ?  I  can- 
not see  your  faces  to  tell  whether  you  look  so  ;  but  I  am  sure 
you  ought  to  be." 

"  Oh,  we  are  very  happy,  no  doubt,"  said  Rosalind,  with  a 
light,  careless  laugh  ;  "  but  please  don't  congratulate  us — it  is 
entirely  too  soon  for  that  ceremony.  Marriage  is  time  enough 
for  it — engagements  are  so  uncertain." 

"  I  cannot  see  w^hy  engagements  should  be  more  uncertain 
than  marriage,  when  those  concerned  are  in  earnest,"  said 
Champion,  in  a  tone  of  slight  rebuke.  There  was  no  disguising 
the  fact  that  Rosalind's  words  jarred  on  him.  They  sounded 
frivolous,  he  thought — and  in  his  eyes  frivolity  was  a  cajDital 
fault. 


133  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"I  only  meant  to  express  the  trite  commonplace  tliat  all 
things  mundane  are  uncertain,"  said  Rosalind,  who  knew  to  a 
nicety  how  far  to  venture.  "  Mary  must  pardon  me  if  my  re- 
mark sounded  ungracious,  and  she  must  accept  our  thanks  for 
her  congratulations.  We  are  happy — though  we  try  not  to  be 
foolish." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  that  Mr.  Champion  ever  was  foolish  in 
his  life,"  said  Mary,  with  her  rare,  soft  laugh. 

"  Thanks  for  the  distinction,"  said  Rosalind,  gayly. 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation,  the  whole  party  except 
IMiss  Carlisle  were  suddenly  startled  by  the  unexpected  appear- 
ance of  two  dogs  which  sprang  over  the  fence  into  the  road, 
followed  closely  by  a  tall  man  with  a  gun,  and  a  small  boy  with 
a  game-bag.  Rosalind  recognized  the  former  im.mediately,  and 
uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Mr.  Devereux !  "  she  said.     "  Is  it  possible  this  is  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  possible,"  answered  Devereux,  lifting  his  hat. 
He  was  in  sporting-dress,  and  looked  so  handsome,  that  Rosa- 
lind's heart  was  conscious  of  a  thrill.  "  I  have  come  to  apolo- 
gize," he  went  on,  addressing  her.  "  It  was  my  careless  shot  a 
little  while  ago  that  startled  your  horse.  I  was  never  more 
fi'ightened  than  when  I  saw  him  dash  off.  I  had  not  observed 
you  before.  You  can  scarcely  imagine  how  much  relieved  I  was 
when  I  saw  what  an  excellent  rider  you  were,  and  that  no  acci- 
dent occurred." 

"  I  was  to  blame  as  well  as  yourself,"  said  Rosalind.  "  I 
should  have  had  my  horse  better  in  hand,  knowing  that  he  is 
inclined  to  be  foolish.  But  you  see  I  am  not  alioays  awkward !  " 
she  added,  with  a  subtile  play  of  humorous  expression  about  her 
lips  and  in  her  eyes. 

"Did  you  imagine  that  I  thought  so?"  asked  Devereux, 
smiling.  "  But  you  will  accept  the  spoils,  will  you  not  ?  "  he 
added,  pointing  to  the  game-bag — evidentlj^  a  full  one — which 
his  attendant  carried. 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  answered  Rosalind,  graciously ; 
then  a  laugh  brought  %Mt  all  the  charming  dimples  of  her  face. 


BY  THE   WAYSIDE.  133 

'  How  did  you  know  that  I   said  that  partridge  ought  to  be 
mine  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  did  not  know  it,  but  I  felt  the  same  conviction,"  an- 
swered he,  regarding  her  with  an  expression  of  admiration 
which  Champion  saw  and  resented. 

"  It  was  worth  while  being  frightened  to  be  so  pleasantly 
rewarded,"  said  she.  "  But  pray  excuse  me  ;  I  am  very  forget- 
ful. You  know  Miss  Carlisle,  I  believe  ;  but  you  do  not  know 
Mr.  Champion.  Let  me  introduce  you — Mr.  Devereux,  Mr. 
Champion." 

The  gentlemen  bowed— Champion  a  little  stiffly,  Devereux 
with  his  usual  easy  grace.  "  I  am  glad  to  make  Mr.  Champi- 
on's acquaintance,"  he  said,  with  the  pleasant  ring  in  his  voice 
which  always  went  so  far  to  propitiate  liking.  Then  he  turned 
and  walked  up  to  the  carriage.  He  had  not  noticed  its  occu- 
pants before  Rosalind  spoke.  Now  he  saw  Marj  Carlisle's 
pure,  sweet  face,  and  blue,  sightless  eyes. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  as  he  reached  her  side.  "  I  did  not 
know  that  you  were  here.  I  was  intent  on  apologizing  for  hav- 
ing startled  Miss  Severn's  horse  a  short  time  ago.  I  am  glad  to 
meet  3'ou." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  that  you  observed  me,"  said  Mary,  ex- 
tending her  hand  with  a  smile.  "  But  I  knew  your  voice. 
Voices  are  like  faces  to  me.     I  never  forget  them." 

"  How  good  your  memorj^  must  be,  then  !  Better  than  mine 
for  faces.  I  forget  many  of  those  ;  but  there  is  great  individu- 
alitv  in  a  voice." 

"  You  do  not  know  how  much  unless  you  have  listened,  as  I 
do,  without  seeing,"  she  answered.  "  But  what  have  you  been 
doing  to  frighten  Rosalind's  horse  ? — shooting  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  kill  time  as  well  as  birds.  Afid  my  evil  genius 
made  me  discharge  my  gun  just  as  Miss  Severn  was  passing. 
It  might  have  proved  worse — at  least  more  dangerous — than 
the  plunge-bath  I  was  unlucky  enough  to  cause  her  the  other 
day." 

"  You  have  blamed  yourself  more  than  enough  for  that,  Mr. 


i:U  A   QUESTION   OF  UOXOR. 

Devereux,"  said  Rosalind.  "Pray  believe  that  I  absolve  you." 
Then  slie  added,  seeing  that  Champion  looked  a  little  impatient, 
"  Are  you  going  into  town,  Mary  ?  " 

^'  Yes,"  answered  Mary  ;  "  Jessie  wants  to  do  a  little  shop- 
ping, and  I  want  to  see  Madeleine.  Don't  let  me  detain  you 
any  longer — I  know  this  is  the  best  part  of  the  afternoon  for 
riding." 

"  And  for  driving,  too,  so  we  will  not  detain  you.  Good- 
evening.     I  am  almost  sure  you  will  find  Madeleine  at  home." 

Champion  made  his  adieux  also,  and  the  equestrians  rode 
away.  This  was  a  step  which  irked  Rosalind  no  little,  but  which 
she  felt  the  necessity  of  facing  cheerfully.  It  would  never  do  to 
suffer  any  seeds  of  suspicion  or  jealousy  to  take  root  in  Cham- 
pion's mind.  Observing  that  he  looked  grave,  she  spoke  with  a 
lauoh : 

"  Basil  thouD-ht  it  absurd  when  I  suo-o-ested  that  Mr.  Deve- 
reux  had  come  here  to  marry  Mary.  I  wonder  what  he  thinks 
now?  It  seems  to  me  as  plain  as  possible  that  he  intends  to  do 
so." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  does,"  answered  Champion,  "  but  T  hope 
Miss  Carlisle  has  too  much  sense  to  fall  into  the  trap  of  a  for- 
tune-hunter. I  distrust  the  man  altogether,"  he  said,  as  Basil 
had  said  before  him.  "  He  professes  too  much  disinterestedness. 
When  a  man  does  that,  it  is  safe  to  suspect  him  of  a  desire  to 
serve  his  own  interests  particularly  well." 

The  man  thus  condemned  was  at  this  time  saying  to  Mary, 
as  he  stood  by  the  carriage,  with  his  gun  in  his  hand,  unconscious 
how  intently  Jessie  Holme's  keen  eyes  were  reading  his  face : 

"I  will  not  detain  you,  either,  further  than  to  ask  if  I  may 
come  to  see  you.  I  remember  that  you  gave  me  a  kind  permis- 
sion to  do  so  the  otker  day,  but  I  have  hesitated  to  avail  myself 
of  it,  fearing  that  you  might  consider  me  presumj^tuous." 

"  Why  should  you  have  feared  such  a  thing  ? "  she  asked, 
with  gentle  graciousness  of  manner.  It  was  not  Rosalind  alone 
who  felt  Devereux's  charm.  Though  his  handsome  face  and 
graceful  bearing  were  veiled  from  poor  Mary,  she  could  appreci- 


BY   THE   WAYSIDE.  I35 

ate  none  the  less — rather,  more — tlie  deference  of  liis  manner, 
the  music  of  his  voice.  "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  saying  one 
thing  and  meaning  another,"  she  went  on.  "  Come  when  you 
feel  inclined  to  do  so." 

"  I  shall  feel  inclined  very  soon,  then,"  said  he.  "  May  I 
come  to-morrow  ?     Shall  I  find  you  disengaged  ?  " 

"  I  am  always  disengaged  ?  "  she  answered.  "  Yes,  you  may 
come  to-morrow."  Then  some  instinct  made  her  add  :  "  You  will 
find  my  dear  friend  Madeleine  Severn  with  me.  I  am  going  for 
her  now." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Devereux.  He  would  have  liked  to  say 
more,  but  seeing  that  the  ponies  were  restless,  he  drew  back. 
"  I  must  not  detain  you  longer,"  he  added.     "  Good-evening."  ^ 

Mary  bowed,  Jessie  touched  the  impatient  horses,  and  the 
carriage  bowled  rapidly  away,  leaving  him  standing  by  the  road- 
side gazing  after  it. 

He  stood  so  long,  and  gazed  so  steadil}^,  that  the  bearer  of 
the  game-bag  grew  quite  restless,  and  finally  suggested  that  the 
dogs  were  "  clean  out  o'  sight."  He  was  rewarded  for  this  in- 
telligence by  being  told  to  call  them  back,  and  when  they  reap- 
peared, Mr.  Devereux  returned  to  his  shooting.  He  shot  quite 
as  well  as  he  had  done  before,  and  many  a  pretty,  brown  bird, 
with  its  dainty  plumage  all  bloody  and  rufHed,  was  crammed 
into  the  game-bag  with  its  murdered  comrades,  before  the  sun 
went  down.  But  throuo-h  all  this  wholesale  slauo-hter  the 
sportman's  face  still  wore  the  preoccupied  expression  which 
came  over  it  as  he  looked  at  Miss  Carlisle's  carriao;e  drivins: 
away,  and  more  than  once  he  said  to  himself,  "  After  all,  why 
not  ?  " 

Mary,  meanwhile,  had  turned  to  her  companion,  and  said,  a 
little  wistfull}^,  "  Jessie,  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  He's  good  enough  looking.  Miss  Mar\^,  if  looks  was  all  a 
body  had  to  go  by,"  responded  Jessie,  cautiously. 

"  Do  you  mean  handsome  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  Every  one  says 
so.  T  did  not  mean  that — I  meant,  what  do  you  think  of  him  ? 
Does  he  look  to  you  like  a  man  you  would  trust  ?  " 


136  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

"  I  have  never  yet  found — speaking  of  men — many  of  them 
I  would  trust,"  answered  Jessie,  who  regarded  the  dominant 
half  of  the  world  with  profound  suspicion,  largely  seasoned  with 
contempt.  "  I've  found  that  they'll  generally  take  a  wom.an  in 
— if  the}'-  can.  It  is  not  very  likely  this  Mr.  Devereux  is  differ- 
ent from  the  rest." 

"  But  does  he  look  deceitful^  or — or — as  if  he  were  capable 
of  double-dealing  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  Jessie,  y.ou  have  sight,  and 
I  have  not — can  you  not  tell  me  how  his  appearance  strikes 
you  ?  " 

The  earnestness  of  this  appeal   seemed  to   take  Jessie  by 
surprise.     She  turned  her  eyes  quickly  to  the  blind  girl's  face 
^Yhat  she   saw  there   made  her  change  her  tone.     There  was 
nothing  short  of  perjury  she  would  not  have  said  to  gratify  the 
least  desire  of  her  gentle  mistress. 

"  My  eyes  are  no  better  than  your  ears,  Miss  Mary,  and  so 
I've  told  you  time  and  again,"  she  said.  But  if  you  want  to 
know  how  Mr.  Devereux  strikes  me,  I  can  honestly  say  that  I'd 
trust  him  as  soon  as  I  would  any  other  man.  He  has  a  kind  of 
don't-care  look  on  his  face,  and  a  lazy  expression  in  his  eyes,  but 
I  shouldn't  think  he'd  say  one  thing  and  mean  another — at  least 
not  more'n  men  in  general  do." 

"  What  a  man-hater  you  are  ! "  said  Mary,  smiling.  "  Don't 
you  trust  any  of  that  sex  ?  " 

"  I  trust  Mr.  Basil  -Severn,"  replied  Jessie.  "If  I  had  a  mint 
of  money — which  the  Lord  knows  I  don't  want — I  should  give  it 
all  to  him  to  keep,  and  not  take  any  receipt,  either ! " 

"  I  shall  tell  Basil  that,"  said  Mary,  "  and  since  he  knows 
your  business  character,  and  how  inflexibly  you  always  demand 
a  receipt  for  every  thing,  he  will  appreciate  the  compliment." 

Soon  after  this  they  reached  Stansbury,  and  found  Miss  Sev 
ern  at  home.  "  I  have  come  for  you  to  go  back  with,  me,"  said 
Mary,  and  Madeleine  could  not  refuse.  She  often  went  to  the 
Lodge  and  spent  several  days — sometimes  even  a  week  or  two — 
and  just  now  she  had  no  excuse  to  refuse  returning  with  her 
friend.     Yet  she  felt  very  reluctant  to  go — a  reluctance  which 


BY   THE  WAYSIDE.  13^ 

Bhe  could  scarcely  analyze,  but  which  she  remembered  afterward, 
and  asked  herself,  as  people  will  do,  if  it  had  been  a  presentiment. 
It  was  a  date  to  which  she  looked  back,  this  visit — a  gap,  as  it 
were,  between  her  old  life  and  the  new  events  which  were  com- 
ing to  meet  her.  It  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  she  felt  any 
IDrophetical  sense  of  this  when  she  hesitated  over  Mary's  request ; 
but  it  is  certain  that  she  did  hesitate,  and  when  at  last  she  agreed 
to  go,  it  was  with  the  proviso,  "  I  cannot  stay  long — not  more 
than  a  day  or  two." 

"  You  shall  come  back  exactly  w-lien  you  choose,"  said  Mary, 
pleased  to  win  consent  at  any  price. — "  Jessie,  you  may  go  and 
attend  to  your  shopping.  Miss  Severn  will  drive  me  home. — 
Madeleine,  don't  be  long  in  making  your  preparations,  or  we 
shall  miss  the  pleasant  part  of  the  afternoon." 

Madeleine's  preparations  did  not  detain  her  long,  but,  after 
having  put  together  a  few  articles  of  dress,  she  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  note  to  Lacy — in  thoughts  of  whom  her  reluctance  to 
leave  Stansbury  principally  took  root.  She  had  seen  him  only 
once  since  the  evening  she  had  played  impartial  critic  with  such 
disagreeable  results ;  and  then  there  had  been  a  subtile  reserve 
and  constraint  like  a  curtain  between  them.  She  had  felt  this — 
felt  it  keenly — and  tried  by  every  means  in  her  power  to  put  it 
aside,  but  she  had  failed ;  and  the  failure  made  her  uneasy  and 
miserable.  She  was  not  a  woman  to  indulge  in  those  piquant 
amusements  know^n  as  "  lovers'  quarrels  " — there  was  a  sweet  pa- 
tience,  a  breadth  of  tender  harmony,  in  her  nature,  which  made 
dissension  in  any  form  impossible  to  her — so  her  engagement  had 
altogether  lacked  this  seasoning,  and  she  had  no  experience  of 
the  past  to  fortify  her  in  the  vague  shadows  of  the  present.  She 
only  felt,  as  all  truly  generous  natures  invariably  feel,  that  she 
must  be  in  the  wrong,  and,  so  feeling,  she  stretched  out  hei 
hand  with  a  great  impulse  of  love  and  repentance.  Despite 
herself,  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  her  that  her  lover  was 
not  so  strong  as  she  had  fancied  him — that  there  must  be  some- 
thing of  weakness  and  self-love,  mingled  with  the  poet's  sensi- 
tiveness ;  but  all  the  more  for  this  realization  she  blamed  her- 


138  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

self  for  the  pang  she  had  inflicted,  the  harsh  judgment  which 
she  had  passed.  She  wrote  now  an  affectionate  note,  telling 
him  that  she  was  going  out  to  the  Lodge  for  a  few  days,  but 
she  made  no  special  request  that  he  would  come  there  to  see 
her.  "  If  he  wants  to  come,  he  will  not  need  an  invitation," 
she  thouii'lit. 

The  afternoon  was  still  soft  and  pleasant  when  Mary  and 
herself  drove  out  of  Stansbury.  They  met  Basil,  and  stopped 
to  exchange  a  few  words.  He  looked  a  little  surprised  when  he 
saw  Madeleine.  "  You  have  surely  forgotten,"  he  said,  "  that 
Miss  Champion  begged  us  to  come  to  her  house  to-night  in 
order  to  arrange  some  dramatic  or  musical  entertainment  ?  " 

"  I  did  forget  it  altogether,"  answered  Madeleine.  "  You 
must  make  my  excuses.  My  attendance  is  not  of  any  importance, 
fortunately,  since  I  have  neither  dramatic  nor  musical  ability." 

"  I  doubt  if  any  of  us  are  much  endowed  with  talent  in 
either  line,"  said  Severn,  with  a  laugh,  "  but  Miss  Champion  is 
determined  to  put  us  to  the  test. — Mary,  I  am  very  glad  to  sea 
you  out,  and  more  glad  to  see  you  looking  particularly  well." 

"  I  must  be  looking  well,"  said  Mary,  "  since  you  are  the 
third  person  who  has  told  me  so." 

After  a  few  more  words,  they  bade  each  other  good-day 
and  passed  on.  Then  Madeleine  said  :  "  Helen  Champion  has 
made  Basil  promise  to  take  Mr.  Devereux  to  her  gathering  to- 
night.    I  fancy  he  will  be  very  much  bored." 

"  He  can  amuse  himself  by  making  apologies  to  Rosalind," 
said  Miss  Carlisle.  "  He  seems  destined  to  cause  mishaps  to 
her.     This  afternoon  he  frightened  her  horse." 

"  Was  there  any  accident  ?  "  asked  Madeleine,  slightly  star- 
tled. 

"None  at  all.  I  should  not  have  heard  of  it,  only  he  came 
up  to  apologize  while  I  was  talking  to  her.  Then  she  rode  on, 
and  he  lingered  a  few  minutes  to  speak  to  me,  and  say  that  he 
would  like  to  call  to-morrow.  Madeleine  " — a  slight  pause — 
"  he  is  really  very  pleasant." 

"  Very,"  replied  Madeleine,  rather  dryly. 


THEATRICALS— AND   OTHER   MATTERS.  139 


CHAPTER   II. 

THEATEICALS — A^D    OTHER    MATTERS. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Miss  Champion,  with  an  air  of  severe  gravi- 
ty, "  how  do  you  think  I  look  ?  " 

*'  Bless  me,  Helen  ! "  replied  her  mother.  "  What  is  the 
use  of  such  a  question  ?  You  know  you  are  looking  as  hand- 
some as  possible.     That  dress  is  elegant — and  so  becoming." 

The  dress  in  question  was  certainly  elegant,  and  very  be- 
coming— a  gold-colored  silk  made  demi-toilette  and  softened  by 
black  lace.  Crimson  roses  were  in  the  young  lady's  raven  hair 
and  on  her  breast ;  crimson  roses  also  shone  on  her  cheeks,  and 
her  dark  eyes  had  that  starry  look  which  we  often  see  in  eyes 
that  have  no  other  beauty.  A  splendid-looking-woman,  cer- 
tainly, by  gas-light,  was  Miss  Ciiampion,  eminently  "  a  woman 
with  a  presence,"  and  if  just  now  a  woman  slightly  overdressed, 
considering  that  this  was  provincial  society,  that  she  was  in  her 
own  house,  and  that  the  occasion  was  informal,  what  else  could 
be  expected  of  an  heiress  with  lustrous  silks  and  costly  laces  in 
her  possession  ? 

She  swept  down  the  draw4ng-room  W'itli  her  rich  dress  trail- 
ing half  a  yard  behind,  and  regarded  herself  intently  in  a  full- 
length  mirror.  "  I  don't  think  Rosalind  Severn  will  look  better 
than  I  do  to-night ! "  she  said  at  length,  half  audibly. 

Low  though  the  words  were,  her  mother  caught  them,  and 
answered  from  the  arm-chair  where  she  sat  fanning  herself — for 
the  night  was  warm,  and  Mrs.  Champion's  size  was  large  :  "  It 
is  quite  beyond  me  to  imagine  how  you  can  think  that  Rosalind 
Severn  ever  looks  better  than  you  do,  Helen !  She  is  pretty 
enough  in  an  insignificant  kind  of  way,  but  as  for  looking  like 
yoic — " 

"  She  certainly  does  not  look  like  me,"  said  Helen,  wdth  a 
laugh,  "  but  some  people  prefer  her  looks  to  mine.  There  is 
Brother  James,  for  instance." 


140  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mrs.  Champion,  with  a  sigh.  She  always  sighed 
■when  James's  unaccountable  infatuation  was  alluded  to.  It  was 
a  safe  and  terse  way  of  expressing  her  feelings.  Just  now, 
however,  being  alone  with  Helen,  she  went  on  to  express  them 
in  words  :  "  On  that  point,"  she  said,  "  James's  opinion  counts 
for  nothing.  His  fancy  for  that  girl  is  something  I  can't  under- 
stand ! — something  I  never  expect  to  understand !  It  would  be 
impossible  to  find  any  one  more  entirely  unsuited  to  him.  If  I 
am  any  judge  of  character,"  pursued  the  lady,  with  dignity, 
"Rosalind  Severn  will  never  make  a  good  wife  for  any  man; 
but  for  James  to  throw  himself  away  on  her,  is — is  horrible ! " 

"  It  is  his  own  affair — he  will  not  be  warned,  he  has  always 
been  foolish  about  her,"  said  Miss  Champion,  philosophically, 
giving  a  touch  to  the  braids  and  curls  of  her  elaborate  coiffure. 
"  I  would  not  trouble  about  it  if  I  were  you,  mamma.  Some- 
thing may  happen.  Rosalind  is  a  born  flirt — I  don't  think  she 
could  help  flirting  if  her  life  depended  on  it — and,  if  she  goes 
to  that  again,  Brother  James  w^ill  certainly  break  off  the  engage- 
ment." 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  she  would  go  to  it !  "  remarked  Mrs. 
Champion,  devoutly. 

"  I  think  she  will — if  she  has  an  opportunity^,"  said  Helen. 
"  There  is  Mr.  Devereux — you  may  be  sure  that  she  will  flirt 
with  him  if  she  can  !  You  remember  the  scene  when  w-e  went 
there  the  other  night." 

"  But  James  would  not  believe  that  she  meant  any  harm  by 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Champion,  despondently. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  returned  Helen,  with  a  strong  accent  of  incre- 
dulity. "  He  would  not  own  that  he  believed  it,  but  I  know  that 
he  did. — Is  that  the  door-bell  ?  Are  you  sure  I  look  my  very  best, 
mamma  ?    I  have  half  a  mind  to  flirt  with  Mr.  Devereux  myself." 

"  I  would  rather  you  let  Rosalind  do  so,"  said  Mrs.  Cham- 
pion, with  a  solicitude  that  was  touching. 

Her  daughter's  laugh — not  a  very  musical  one — rang  through 
the  room.  "  How  much  Rosalind  would  be  obliged  to  you  !  " 
she  said.     "  But  you  see  it  does  not  depend  on  we.     Mr.  Deve 


THEATRICALS— AND   OTHER  MATTERS.  141 

reux  is  like  the  sultan — he  must  throw  his  handkerchief  where 
he  pleases." 

As  she  uttered  the  last  words,  a  gentleman  entered  the  room, 
and  advanced  down  its  leno-th  to  where  the  ladies  were  sittino; 
— Helen  having  thrown  herself  carelessly  into  a  deep  chair,  and 
making,  as  she  knew  well,  a  very  striking  picture,  with  the  folds 
of  her  amber  silk  sweeping  the  floor,  her  draperies  of  black  lace 
and  her  crimson  roses  enhancing  the  rich  brunette  tints  of  her 
face.  It  was  a  picture  that  Gordon  Lacy  was  specially  fitted  to 
appreciate — and  it  was  Gordon  Lacy  who  approached. 

"  Is  it  possible  I  am  the  first-comer  ?  "  he  asked,  after  he  had 
said  good-evening  to  Mrs.  Champion.  "  I  would  ask  you  to 
pardon  me,  only  somebody  must  be  first,  and  you  can  set  my 
early  appearance  down  to  my  eagerness  to  see  you.  Now  that 
I  do  see  you,"  he  went  on,  with  an  expressive  glance  and  a.  slight 
bow,  "  I  am  well  repaid." 

"  It  is  not  you  who  are  early,  but  the  rest  who  are  late,"  Miss 
Champion  answered,  her  glowing  color  deepening  a  little  under 
the  admiration  of  his  gaze.  "  It  is  provoking  of  them,  too,  for  I 
meant  that  we  should  transact  a  great  deal  of  business.  But 
where  is  Madeleine  ?    Does  she  not  intend  to  come  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  her,"  Lacy  answered,  carelessly,  "  but  I 
scarcely  think  she  will  be  here,  since  she  went  out  to  the  Lodge 
this  afternoon  with  Miss  Carlisle." 

"  How  sorry  I  am !  I  wanted  eve?ybodi/  to  come.  My  heart 
is  quite  set  on  doing  something  that  will  make  a  sensation  in 
Stansbur3\     You  must  tell  me  what  it  shall  be,  Mr.  Lacy." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  the  humblest  of  your  servants,  and 
waiting  for  you  to  tell  me." 

"  Ah,  how  modest  you  are  !  It  is  very  good  of  you — such  an 
exalted  person  as  you  have  become — to  put  yourself  at  the  com- 
mand of  such  an  insignificant  person  as  myself." 

"  Have  I  become  an  exalted  person  ?  "    Lacy  asked,  arching 
his  brows.     "  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  be  the  first  to  tell  me 
such  an  astonishing  piece  of  news.     And  have  you  become  an 
insignificant  person  ?     That  is  more  remarkable  still." 
7 


142  A  QUESTION  OF  HOXOR. 

"  You  know  perfectly  what  I  meant,"  said  she,  laughing.  "  I 
must  tell  you,  b^'-the-way  " — here  she  looked  down  and  unfurled 
her  fan — "  that  I  admire  your  writings  so  veri/  much  that  I  have 
grown  absolutely  afraid  of  you.  I  cannot  realize  that  we  were 
such  good  friends  as — as  we  used  to  be." 

"You  honor  me  too  much,"  said  he.  "I  hope  you  are  in 
earnest,  I  hope  you  do  like  my  writings — I  shall  like  them  bet- 
ter myself  if  they  have  your  approval.  But  as  for  not  realizing 
what  good  friends  we  used  to  be — I  assure  you  that  I  realize 
fully  and  shall  never  forget  it." 

His  voice  had  a  tender  cadence  ;  he  spoke  as  if  the  friendship 
to  which  she  alluded  was  a  source  of  mingled  consolation  and 
regret  to  him.  Why  should  he  not  amuse  himself  by  talking  in 
this  manner  ?  There  could  be  nothing  reprehensible  in  a  harm- 
less flirtation  with  this  star- eyed  admirer  of  his  writings,  while 
Madeleine,  their  unsparing  critic,  was  playing  backgammon  with 
Mrs.  Ingram  at  the  Lodge,  and  talking  to  Mary  Carlisle. 

It  was  a  pity  that  a  conversation  so  productive  of  entertain- 
ment on  both  sides  should  have  been  interrupted  just  here  by 
another  peal  of  the  door-bell.  A  moment  later,  two  young  ladies 
and  their  attendant  cavaliers  entered.  They  belonged  to  the 
extremely  talkative  order,  and  their  gay,  empty  chatter  soon 
filled  the  room.  Lacy  listened  for  five  minutes,  looking  intense- 
ly bored  the  while — then  he  sauntered  away  to  the  piano,  and 
occupied  himself  turning  over  the  music,  scarcely  heeding  the 
people  who  now  arrived  in  detachments.  Miss  Champion  having 
beaten  her  drum  to  such  good  purpose  for  recruits  that  she  had 
enlisted  nearly  every  one  of  her  acquaintance.  Finally,  among 
the  very  last,  Rosalind  appeared,  on  the  arm  of  her  adoring 
James. 

She  was  not  outshone ;  that  was  positive  as  soon  as  she  en-  i 
tered  the  room.  Whether  some  instinct  had  warned  her  to  look 
her  best,  or  whether — as  was  most  probable — she  did  not  stand 
in  need  of  such  an  instinct,  the  fact  remained  undeniable  that 
she  did  look  her  best,  even  though  she  wore  no  silk,  or  lace,  or 
jewels.     Fine  feathers  often  make  fine  birds,  but  sometimes  the 


TEEATRICALS— AXD   OTHER   MATTERS.  143 

birds  tliemselres  are  fine,  and  then  they  do  not  need  the  feath- 
ers. Rosalind  was  one  of  these.  Her  delicate,  graceful  beauty 
stood  in  no  need  of  rich  adornment.  She  never  looked  lovelier 
than  when  she  appeared  as  now,  dressed  in  filmy  white  muslin, 
with  her  sash-ribbons  and  flowers  all  a  clear,  delicate  rose-color. 

Miss  Champion  met  her  effusively.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you  !  "  she  said.  "  I  have  been  longing  for  vom  to  come  and  help 
me  brinof  order  out  of  chaos.  I  am  half  frio-htened  at  the  tumult 
I  have  evoked.  ^Yhere  is  Mr.  Severn  ?  I  count  on  him  for  so 
much  assistance." 

"  Has  he  not  come  yet  ?  "  asked  Rosalind.  "  He  went  to  the 
hotel  some  time  ago  to  meet  Mr.  Devereux." 

"  Did  he  ?  He  will  be  here  then,  no  doubt,  very  soon.  Now 
do  come  and  see  if  you  can  make  any  two  of  these  people  agree." 

"  You  set  me  a  difficult  task ! "  said  Rosalind,  with  a  laugh. 

She  came  to  the  rescue,  however,  and,  leaving  her  to  pour  oil 
on  the  troubled  waters.  Miss  Champion  moved  down  the  room 
to  where  Lacy  still  lingered  at  the  piano. 

"  Won't  you  sing  for  us  ?  "  she  asked,  touching  him  lightly 
with  her  fan.  "  It  is  not  allowable  to  come  to  a  business  meet- 
ing and  do  nothing.  Have  you  heard  the  confusion  over  yon- 
der? I  think  the  best  plan  will  be  to  elect  a  president,  and 
make  everybody  abide  by  his  or  her  decision." 
•  "I  am  quite  sure  of  that,"  said  he,  " and  I  beg  leave  to  cast 
my  vote  at  once  for  yourself.  What  have  you  decided  to  do  ?  — 
Act  a  play  ?  " 

"I  believe  so — almost  every  one  is  anxious  for  that.  But 
the  question  is,  what  play  ? — and  you  know  there  will  be  a  bat- 
tle-royal over  the  characters." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  know  indeed  !  If  you  want 
to  sound  the  hidden  depths  of  people's  natures,  act  a  play  with 
j  them — above  all,  give  them  a  character  which  they  fancy  be- 
neath their  powers.  I  wonder  if  you  have  an  idea  what  a  har- 
vest of  hatred  you  are  going  to  reap  in  return  for  your  efforts  as 
a  social  reformer  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  try  to  discourage  me  so  ?     It  is  very  un- 


1.41  A   QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

kind.  But  if  people  are  offended,  let  them  go !  I  shall  have 
you  left — and  Rosalind  and  Mr.  Severn." 

*'  A  small  dramatic  company,"  said  Lacy,  smiling.  "  But  I 
have  a  suggestion  to  make.  Instead  of  one  of  those  five-act 
plays  which  you  were  all  discussing,  choose  a  short,  three-act 
comedy,  distribute  the  characters  impartially  as  you  think  best, 
leaving  out  you  and  me  altogether." 

"  But  why  ?  "  asked  Miss  Champion.  Her  face  fell  absurdly. 
"  I  am  not  so  disinterested  as  you  seem  to  think,"  she  said.  "  I 
have  a  great  desire  to  act  myself." 

"  Do  you  think  I  meant  to  propose  that  you  should  not  do 
so  ?  I  am  sure  j^ou  will  act  excellently,  and  I  am  selfish  enough 
to  want  you  to  act  with  me.  When  they  have  finished  their 
play,  let  us  then  give  some  graceful  little  comedietta  like  the 
'Morning  Calk'" 

"That  is  an  admirable  programme;  but  what  will  the  rest 
say?" 

"Don't  ask  them  to  say  any  thing.  Make  a  bold  coup 
cVttat  and  constitute  yourself  manager.  Then  announce  what 
you  mean  to  do." 

"  You  must  support  me,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"With  all  my  heart,"  he  answered.  "And  j'onder  comes 
some  one  who  will  support  you  also,  no  matter  what  act  of  des- 
potism you  may  choose  to  execute." 

"  Who  is  that  ? "  she  asked ;  but  the  next  instant  she  saw 
who  he  meant.  Basil  Severn  was  entering  the  room  with  Mr. 
Devereux.  They  paid  their  respects  to  Mrs.  Champion,  then 
crossed  the  floor  to  where  the  younger  and  fiiirer  hostess  stood. 

"  You  are  very  late,"  she  said,  after  she  had  greeted  them 
both.  "  How  do  you  know  what  important  matters  might  have 
been  transacted  in  your  absence  ?  Mr.  Devereux,  I  hope  you 
mean  to  help  us  ?     I  am  sure  you  can  if  you  wilk" 

"  I  place  myself  at  your  command,"  replied  Devereux.  "  But 
it  is  only  fair  to  tell  you  that  my  theatrical  experience  is  very 
limited." 

"  You  have  played,  however,  have  you  not  ?  " 


THEATRICALS— AXD   OTHER  MATTERS.  145 

"A  few  times.  I  undertook  to  murder  the  character  of 
Charles  Surface  once — and  again  to  personate  Dazzle.'''^ 

"  Ah,  I  am  sure  you  will  do  admirably,"  she  said,  complacent- 
ly. Then  she  turned  to  Basil .  "  Can  you  suggest  any  three-act 
comedy  in  which  you  would  like  to  take  a  part  ?  "  she  asked. 
*'Mr.  Lacy  and  I  have  arranged  a  programme.  It  is  only  neces- 
sary now  to  find  a  play  ^nd  cast  the  characters." 

After  this  an  animated  discussion  ensued.  Devereux,  who 
felt  not  the  faintest  interest  in  the  matter,  bore  the  part  which 
Fate  had  assigned  him  with  cheerful  philosophy,  and  it  was  he 
who  finally  suggested  one  of  Scribe's  comedies,  which  seemed 
to  suit  the  occasion  better  than  any  thing  else  which  had  been 
jDroposed.  "  We  must  get  it  at  once,"  said  Miss  Champion, 
and  Lacy  added  the  name  to  a  long  list  which  he  had  already 
made  out.  Basil  took  the  paper  from  his  hand  and  glanced 
over  it. 

"  These  must  be  ordered  immediately,"  he  said.  "  Until 
they  arrive  we  can  do  nothing  more." 

"  I  wish  you  would  make  a  statement  to  that  effect,"  said 
Miss  Champion. 

Mr.  Severn  obeyed.     He  advanced   into  the  middle  of  the 

•  floor,  requested  silence,  and  informed  the  assembled  company 

that  a  list  of  plaj^s  had  been  made  out,  which  would  be  ordered 

speedilj',  after  which  they  would  be  called  upon  to  decide  what 

they  desired  to  act. 

"  You  need  not  have  added  that,"  said  Helen  when  he  re- 
turned to  her  side.  "  I  don't  mean  to  have  such  a  gathering  as 
this  again.  We  will  choose  a  comedy,  and  then  we  will  simply 
let  the  people  to  whom  we  assign  the  characters  know  what 
they  are  to  play." 

"  Very  likely,  then,  they  will  simply  let  you  know  that  they 
do  not  fancy  the  characters  assigned,  and  do  not  care  to  play 
them." 

''^NHmporte  !  "  she  laughed.  "  We  shall  do  very  well,  I  dare 
say.  Now  let  us  have  some  music.  Mr.  Devereux,  go  and  bring 
Rosalind.     She  must  sing." 


146  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

Mr.  Devereux  went — nothing  loath.  He  had  the  qnick  eye 
of  a  societj-man,  and,  the  moment  he  entered  the  Champion 
drawing-room,  he  had  seen  that  there  was  but  one  woman  in  it 
worth  any  attention.  That  woman  was  Rosalind,  looking  fair  as 
her  namesake  of  Ardennes,  in  her  fleecy  white  muslin  and  the 
delicate  tints  of  rose  about  her.  He  went  up  to  her  now — amused 
to  see  how  listlessly  she  was  enduring  rather  than  receiving  the 
attentions  of  one  or  two  Stansbury  gentlemen.  Champion,  on 
his  part,  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  very  livelj''  3"Oung  lady 
across  the  room,  who  evidently  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  re- 
linquishing him. 

Rosalind  saw  Devereux  approach  before  he  reached  her,  and 
the  listlessness  vanished  instantly  from  her  face.  Animation 
waked  to  lustrous  beauty  the  lovely  blue-graj''  eyes,  and  bright- 
ened the  carmine  on  her  cheeks  till  it  matched  the  roses  in  her 
hair.  She  turned  her  shoulder  deliberately  on  her  faithful  at- 
tendants, and  greeted  him  with  the  most  radiant  of  smiles. 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  mean  to  come  to  let  me  thank  you 
for  your  partridges,  and  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  them,"  she 
said,  when  he  reached  her  side.  "  You  may  frighten  my  horse 
again  any  afternoon  you  choose." 

"  Thank  you  very  much  for  the  permission,"  he  answered. 
"  But  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  so  awkward  again.  I  am  glad  you 
enjoyed  the  birds — you  must  let  me  send  my  game-bag  to  you 
hereafter.  It  will  give  me  an  object  in  shooting  besides  that  of 
killing  time." 

"You  are  too  good — I  don't  want  to  be  selfish.  But  do  j^ou 
only  shopt  to  kill  time  ?  " 

"  Only  for  that — and  a  little,  perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  the 
sport.     One  must  do  something,  you  know." 

"  Stansbury  is  certainlj'-  a  very  dull  place,"  said  she,  candidl3% 

"  Any  place  is  dull  to  a  man  with  few  acquaintances,  and  no 
occupations,"  he  replied.  I  assure  you  I  am  not  inclined  to  find 
fault  with  Stansbury.  It  has  one  or  two  attractions  which  would 
redeem  a  very  Sahara  of  dullness." 

"  Such  as  amateur  theatricals  ?  "  asked  she,  laughing.    "  How 


TnEATPJCALS— AND   OTHER  MATTERS.  147 

sorrj  I  am  for  you  !     How  good  it  is  of  you,  to  submit  to  be 
bored  with  the  smiling  serenity  of  a  martyr !  " 

"  You  forget  that  boredom — like  every  other  form  of  martyr- 
dom— occasionally  has  its  rewards,"  said  he,  looking  straight 
into  her  eyes  as  no  Stansbury  man  ever  looked.  "  I  am  being- 
rewarded  now." 

"  How  delightful  it  is  to  find  a  man  who  knows  how  to  pay  a 
compliment !  "  thought  Rosalind,  with  a  growing  sense  of  grati- 
fication. But  she  was  careful  to  give  no  expression  to  the  feel- 
ing. Though  she  lacked  society  training,  she  had  innate  tact 
enough  to  hold  her  own  even  with  Mr.  Devereux. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  quietly  ;  "  more  kind  than  sin- 
cere, I  am  afraid.  But  have  you  really  pledged  yourself  to  the 
theatricals  ?     Do  you  mean  to  take  a  part  ?  " 

"  I  have  pledged  mj'self  to  take  any  part  which  Miss  Cham- 
pion assigns  me ;  but  I  may  be  allowed  to  express  a  hope  that 
she  will  cast  me  to  play  w^ith  you." 

"  I  should  like  that,"  said  Rosalind,  frankly.  "  I  am  sure 
you  play  well — and,  in  amateur  theatricals,  bad  playing  is  the 
rule." 

"  You  must  not  think  that  I  am  the  brilliant  exception  to 
prove  the  rule,"  said  he.  "  I  might  allow  you  to  do  so — for  none 
of  us  object  to  being  overrated — if  you  were  not  destined  so 
soon  to  find  me  out. — But  I  am  neglecting  the  mission  on  which 
I  was  sent,"  he  added,  suddenly.  "  I  see  IMiss  Champion  is 
shaking  her  fan  at  me.  I  came  to  beg  that  you  will  sing  for  us. 
I  hope  3"our  throat  is  well  enough  to  allow  you  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  My  throat  is  quite  well,"  she  answered,  "  but,  honestly,  my 
singing  is  not  worth  listening  to.  It  does  well  enough  for  Stans- 
bury, but  I  had  rather  not  sing  for  you." 

"  Why  not  for  me  ?  Do  you  take  me  for  a  nightingale  or  a 
critic  ?  " 

"  You  may  be  either  or  both,  for  aught  I  know  to  the  con- 
trary. I  do  know,  however,  that  you  are  accustomed  to  hear- 
ing cultivated  voices,  and  therefore  I  prefer  you  not  to  hear 


mine." 


148  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  I  will  not  press  the  point,  if  you  would  really  rather  not 
sing,"  said  he,  "  but,  if  that  is  your  only  objection,  I  must  dis- 
claim any  such  critical  knowledge  of  music  as  you  attribute  to 
me." 

She  raised  her  shoulders  lightly.  "  Ah,  I  know !  "  she  said. 
"  Besides,  it  docs  not  matter.  Yonder  is  Linda  Berry  going  to 
the  piano.  She  will  please  the  company  better  than  I  can.  She 
sings  American  ballads — horrid  things  that  I  have  culture  enough 
to  despise." 

"  Need  we  stay  and  listen  to  h^r,  then  ?"  he  asked.  "  The 
night  is  lovely.  Won't  you  go  out  on  the  piazza  and  look  at 
it?" 

Rosalind  hesitated.  It  was  an  entrancing  prospect  that 
of  going  out  in  the  moonlight  with  this  pleasant  companion, 
but — there  was  James !  What  would  he  think  ?  Whatever  he 
might  think,  she  decided,  after  a  moment,  to  go — and  this  deci- 
sion was  not  taken  in  a  spirit  of  recklessuess,  but  of  sober  calcu- 
lation. It  might  be  absolutely  necessary  to  her  future  plans 
and  prospects  for  her  to  encourage  Devereux's  attentions,  and 
fan  into  something  more  than  liking,  the — well,  the  appreciation 
he  showed  her.  If  that  lease  should  be  proved — Rosalind's 
thoughts  did  not  go  definitely  farther  than  this,  but  she  rose 
and  moved  toward  a  window  which  was  open  near  them. 

"The  night  is  lovely,"  she  said.  "It  seems  a  pity  not  to 
enjoy  it." 

The  night  was  truly  lovely.  A  great,  silver  moon  was  hang- 
ing in  the  dark-blue  heaven,  in  the  midst  of  fleecy  clouds,  and 
the  air  had  that  softness  which  is  peculiar  to  the  autumn.  Over 
the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  dark  shadows  lay,  and  the  half- 
stripped  branches  of  the  trees  stood  out  with  delicate  effect 
against  the  sky.  While  Rosalind  and  her  companion  admired 
this  scene — no  doubt  with  pleasure  and  profit  to  themselves — the 
gay  voices  talked  and  laughed  within,  and  a  merry  clatter  of 
tongues  came  out  to  the  silent  night  which  was  filling  earth 
with  the  beauty  of  its  pageantry.  Champion  still  performed  his 
share  of  social  duty,  but  his  face  began  to  wear  a  look  which  his 


THEATFJCALS— AND   OTHER   MATTERS.  149 

mother  and  sister  both  knew  well,  though  it  would  have  been 
scarcely  perceptible  to  one  not  familiar  with  his  countenance. 
The  firmly-cut  mouth  only  set  itself  a  little  more  sternly  when 
he  was  not  speaking,  and  the  dark,  straight  brows  drew  a  shade 
closer  together.  It  would  be  difficult  to  express  how  strongly  he 
disaijproved  of  flirting — especially  of  a  woman  who  flirted  with 
other  men  after  she  had  engaged  herself  to  marry  one — and  it 
was  more  disapproval  than  jealousy  which  hardened  his  face 
now.  He  did  not  fear  that  Rosalind  was  in  love  with  Devereux, 
but  he  felt  that  she  was  acting  in  a  manner  unworthy  of  herself, 
and  a  shade  of  disgust  mingled  with  his  displeasure. 

The  evening  wore  on.  Miss  Berry  having  exhausted  her 
repertoire^  was  succeeded  by  others  at  the  piano,  and  finally 
Lacy's  melodious  tones — he  had  a  remarkably  good  and  remark- 
ably well-cultivated  voice — floated  out  on  the  moonlit  night  in 
the  exquisite  "  I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee."  Miss  Champion 
played  his  accompaniment,  and,  when  the  song  was  ended,  she 
looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  How  beautiful  that  is !  "  she  said,  "  and  how  well  you  sing ! 
It  must  be  charming  to  have  such  a  poem  addressed  to  one  !  I 
suppose  you  often  address  your  poems  to  Madeleine — do  you 
not  ?  " 

"  I  address  them,  or  rather,  they  address  themselves,  to  any 
subject  which  inspires  me,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  no  Shelley, 
alas !  but  I  have  been  tempted  all  night  to  put  you  in  a  poem. 
May  I  do  so  ?— and  shall  I  call  it  '  The  Fair  Odalisque  ? '  " 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  she  cried,  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  I 
should  be  delighted!     But  you  can't  mean  it,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  do  mean  it  most  sincerely,"  he  answered.  "  Since  you  are 
kind  enough  to  admire  my  verses,  why  should  they  not  be  dedi- 
cated to  you  ?  " 

"I  admire  them  inexpressibly ^"^  said  she,  with  emphasis. 
"  But  then,  I  am  not  alone  in  that.  Everj^body  is  enthusiastic 
about  your  writings — prose  as  well  as  poetry.  I  suppose  a  hun- 
dired  people  asked  me  this  summer  all  about  you,  and  I  felt  very 
proud  of  having  a  genius  for  a  friend." 


150  A  QUESTION   OF  IIOXOK. 

"  Not  much  of  a  genius,"  said  he,  with  a  faint,  self-scornfal 
laug-h.  Yet  the  flattery  soothed  his  ruffled  pride.  He  knew 
perfectly  well  the  intellectual  weakness  of  the  woman  who  spoke 
— her  absolute  incapacity  for  forming  an  intelligent  critical  opin- 
ion— yet  the  admiration  which  she  expressed  pleased  and  grati- 
fied him.  A  vague  consciousness  came  to  him  that  perhaps  this 
was  the  ideal  comforter,  after  all.  A  household  critic  might 
prove  an  undesirable  and  uncomfortable  thing.  A  man's  home 
should  be  an  asylum  from  criticism ;  the  divinity  of  his  hearth 
and  heart  should  be  one  who  took  his  genius  for  granted,  and 
admired  rather  as  a  matter  of  faith  than  of  judgment. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  '  not  much  of  a  genius  ? '  " 
asked  Miss  Champion,  with  a  melting  glance.  "  You  should  not 
doubt  your  great  powers.     It  is  really  wrong  to  do  so !  " 

"You  inspire  me  to  believe  in  them,"  said  he,  with  tender 
gallantry. 

In  this  strain  the  conversation  continued  for  some  time. 
Lacy  meant  no  disloyalty  to  Madeleine.  He  was  simply  enter- 
taining himself  after  an  old  fashion,  which  of  late  he  had  rather 
laid  aside.  Perhaps  his  volatile  nature  had  grown  a  little  tired 
of  undeviating  constancy,  or  perhaps  poor  Madeleine  in  her 
straightforward  simplicity  had  wounded  his  vanity  more  deeply 
than  she  knew  that  evening  in  the  cedar  summer-house.  At  all 
events  he  was  quite  ready  to  receive  the  homage  of  this  "  fair 
odalisque"  in  golden  silk  and  crimson  roses — and  to  repay  it  in 
kind. 

Basil,  looking  on,  felt  a  suspicion  which  he  would  not  acknowl- 
edge to  himself,  that  things  were  not  quite  right.  He  did  not 
like  to  own  that  he  was  jealous  of  Lacy — who  was  engaged  to 
Madeleine  ;  yet  he  felt  sure  that,  if  any  other  man  had  so  devoted 
himself  to  Helen  Champion,  he  should  have  been  jealous  of  him. 
Yet  he  was  too  loyal  to  blame  the  young  lady  for  accepting 
these  attentions.  What  he  would  have  thought  if  he  had  known 
how  deliberately  she  was  encouraging  them,  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  conjecture.  Our  code  of  morality  and  good  taste  is 
generally  an   elastic   one,  and  fitted  to  stretch  over  the  short- 


THEATEICALS— AND   OTHER  MATTERS.  151 

comings  of  those  whom  we  like  or  admire.  It  will  be  seen,  how- 
ever, that  matters  were  not  all  tranquillity  in  this  first  of  the 
gatherings  which  were  meant  to  reform  Stansburj  society. 

There  was  some  slight  change  in  affairs  when  two  or  three 
servants  entered  with  trays  of  refreshments.  Pyramids  of  ice- 
cream and  piles  of  frosted  cake  are  not  only  good  things  in  them- 
selves, but  they  serve  admirably  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  an 
evening  when  people  have  nothing  definite  to  do  beyond  talking 
to  each  other.  Miss  Champion  came  forward  to  assist  in  serv- 
ing her  guests,  and,  having  made  Basil  very  useful,  rewarded  him 
by  taking  her  ice-cream  in  an  alcove  with  him.  It  was  the  only 
pleasant  hour  of  the  evening  to  the  young  man.  The  window 
was  open  behind  them,  and  a  fragrance  of  honeysuckle  came  in 
with  the  silver  moonlight ;  draping  curtains  in  front  shut  them 
partially  from  view,  and  gave  a  picture-like  effect  to  the  lighted 
room  and  clustered  groups  beyond.  Did  it  matter  that  the 
voice  by  his  side  talked  nonsense,  while  the  face  that  looked  at 
him  was  fair,  and  the  eyes  full  of  alluring  light  ?  There  are  some 
things  on  earth,  if  not  in  heaven,  which  will  always  remain  be- 
yond the  ken  of  any  philosophy — and  the  manner  in  which  a 
sensible  man  will  tolerate  and  admire  the  silliness  of  a  pretty 
woman  is  one  of  them. 

Rosalind,  meanwhile,  was  taking  her  ice-cream  with  Deve- 
reux  still  by  her  side,  for  Champion  held  resolutely  aloof.  When 
she  came  in  from  the  piazza,  a  glance  had  showed  her  the  state 
of  her  lover's  feelings,  but  she  took  the  matter  philosophically. 
There  was  time  enough  to  soothe  him — she  could  not  afford  to 
be  distrait  just  now,  and  weaken  the  impression  she  had  made 
on  Devereux.  In  highest  beauty  and  brightest  spirits,  there- 
fore, she  talked  ;  and  Champion,  without  seeming  to  glance  at 
her  radiant  face,  saw  and  marked  it  all. 

There  were  one  or  two  dances  to  the  piano  after  this.  Miss 
Berry  playing  waltzes  and  galops  very  obligingly.  "  Will  you 
dance  ? "  Devereux  asked  Rosalind ;  but  she  shook  her  head 
reluctantly.  This  was  more  than  even  she  dared  venture.  It 
would  have  been  delightful  to  float  round  the  room  on  this 


152  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

handsome  stranger's  arm,  but  James  ^vould  never  forgive 
tliat^  she  felt  quite  sure ;  and  she  was  not  ready  to  resign  the 
substance  for  a  shadow  which,  after  all,  might  prove  only  a 
shadow. 

When  the  hour  for  departure  arrived,  when  the  assembly 
was  dispersing,  and  the  last  good-nights  had  been  exchanged, 
Champion  came  up  and  offered  his  arm  to  her ;  but  he  did  so  in 
almost  perfect  silence.  For  the  sake  of  his  peace  of  mind  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  his  eye  was  not  quick  enough,  or  his  observa- 
tion close  enough,  to  miss  one  of  the  pink  perfumy  roses  from 
her  hair,  else  he  might  naturally  have  identified  it  with  one 
w^hich  Devereux  held  in  his  hand  when  they  passed  him  stand- 
ing on  the  piazza  lighting  his  cigar. 


CHAPTER   III. 

AT  THE   LODGE. 

The  day  following  Miss  Chamj^ion's  "  evening "  was  over- 
cast, as  days  sometimes  are  after  lovely  moonlight  nights,  even 
in  October.  A  south  wind  had  brought  hazy  clouds,  and  rheu- 
matic people  were  conscious  that  there  was  dampness  in  the 
air.  Notwithstanding  this  fact,  it  might  be  some  days  before 
the  dampness  culminated  in  rain — so  Madeleine  thought  as  she 
walked  in  front  of  the  Lodge  after  breakfast.  Mary  had  not 
appeared  at  that  meal,  and  a  ttte-d-ttte  with  Mrs.  Ingram  was 
never  agreeable  to  Miss  Severn  ;  indeed,  so  much  the  reverse, 
that  she  was  glad  to  end  it  by  taking  her  hat  and  strolling  out 
as  soon  as  they  left  the  breakfast-room.  Few  things  can  be 
conceived  more  wearying  than  an  absolutely  vapid  and  negative 
companion ;  but  Madeleine's  gentle  courtesy  could  have  borne 
with  the  vapidity  if  that  had  been  all.  It  was  not  all,  however. 
Like  most  negative  people,  Mrs.  Ingram  could  be  positive  occa- 
sionally in  her  dislikes,  and  she  heartily  disliked  this  friend  and 


AT   THE   LODGE.  I     I53 

cousin  whom  the  heiress  loved  and  trusted.  She  made  no  active 
display  of  this  feeling,  but  it  vras  clearly  patent  to  the  subject 
of  it,  as  such  feelings  alwaj^s  are.  Love  may  conceal  itself,  but 
aversion  has  a  language  that  not  even  the  veriest  dullard  can 
fail  to  read.  "  Poor  woman !  she  is  envious  and  jealous," 
Madeleine  thought,  as  she  met  the  cold  glance  and  detected  the 
venom  lurkins:  under  the  measured  tones.  She  made  not  the 
sliorhtest  diflference  in  her  own  manner,  but  this  mornino* — as  on 
many  other  occasions — she  found  it  tiresome  to  talk  platitudes 
and  commonplaces  to  an  uninterested  companion,  and  she  was 
glad  to  escape. 

She  strolled  sloAvly  along  toward  the  gate  with  her  hat  in 
her  hand — there  being  a  gray  veil  of  cloud  over  the  sun — her 
pretty  brown  hair  coiffed  in  the  graceful  knot  which  suited  the 
classic  arch  of  her  head,  and  her  soft  brown  eyes  gazing  somewhat 
wistfully  before  her.  Not  a  beautiful  woman  like  Rosalind,  nor  a 
magnificent  woman  (considering  a  woman  in  the  light  of  a  fine 
animal)  like  Helen  Champion ;  but  one  whose  charm  had  the 
power  of  strong  individuality,  and  whose  bravery  was  veiled  in 
softness,  as  a  woman's  courage  should  always  be.  Just  now  her 
heart  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  heaviness.  She  was  thinking 
of  Lacy,  and  more  than  once  she  sighed.  "Was  I  unkind?" 
she  thought.  "  Am  I  a  blunderer,  trampling  heedlessl}^  on  the 
sensibilities  of  others  ?  Ah !  how  hard  it  is  to  remember  that 
we  must  take  people  as  they  are — as  God  has  made  them — and 
not  try  to  remodel  them  according  to  our  poor,  presumptuous 
ideas  ! " 

These  were  not  cheerful  reflections,  vet  she  was  so  absorbed 
in  them  that  she  did  not  notice  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on 
the  hard,  graveled  drive,  until  she  walked  slowly  around  a  curve 
and  found  herself  facing  Basil  and  Roland.  The  young  man 
smiled  at  her  start,  reined  up  his  horse,  and  dismounted. 

"  T  am  glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said.  "  It  was  to  see  you 
more  than  any  thing  else  that  I  was  coming  in."  Then  he  laid 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and,  stooping,  kissed  her  brow — an  un- 
usual caress  on  his  part,  for  the  Severns  were  not  a  demonstra- 


154    I  A  QUESTION  or  noxoR. 

tive  fiimily.  "  What  is  the  matter  ? "  he  said.  "  You  look 
pale,  and  a  trifle  sad." 

"  I  think  3-0U  must  be  mistaken,"  said  Madeleine.  "  The 
overcast  day  makes  every  thing  look  a  little  sad.  I  am  like  the 
leaves,  perhaps,  and  need  sunlight  to  brighten  me.  You  are 
the  sunlight,"  she  added,  slipping  one  hand  in  his  arm  and 
clasping  the  other  over  it.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  but 
why  have  you  come  ?  " 

*'  Don't  I  ahvaj^s  come  to  you  when  anything  worries  me  ?" 
answered  he,  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  I  often  feel  ashamed  to 
think  how  I  cast  my  cares  and  annoyances  on  your  shoulders. 
Women  ought  to  be  shielded  from  such  things,  but  it  has  always 
been  the  other  way  with  you,  and  habit  is  strong." 

"  I  hope  that  habit  will  always  be  strong  with  you,"  said 
Madeleine,  in  her  sweet  voice.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  the  wom- 
an who  does  not  help  others — who  does  not  take  on  herself  as 
far  as  she  can  the  troubles  of  others — has  scarcely  a  right  to 
live.  People  talk  of  a  woman's  rights.  I  think  that  is  the 
chief  of  her  rights — to  share  the  burdens  of  those  she  loves. 
What  is  your  burden  now  ? "  she  asked,  glancing  up  in  his 
face. 

"  Not  a  burden — rather  a  doubt,"  he  answered.  "  After 
leaving  Mrs.  Champion's  last  night  I  had  quite  a  talk  with  Dev- 
ereux,  and  we  went  over  that  business  of  the  lease  in  all  its 
bearings.  It  is  a  staggering  thing  sometimes  to  hear  a  matter 
with  which  you  have  fancied  yourself  perfectly  familiar,  and 
with  regard  to  which  your  convictions  are  entirely  settled,  pre- 
sented clearly  and  impartially  from  the  opposite  view.  I  begin 
to  think  that  he  may  be  right  and  Champion  wrong — I  begin  to 
think  that  it  might  be  well  to  compromise." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  said  Madeleine.  She  was  so  much  surprised 
that  for  an  instant  this  was  all  she  uttered  Then  she  said, 
"  So  Mary's  interests  are,  after  all,  seriously  threatened  ?  " 

"  Very  seriously  threatened,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,"  Basil 
answered.  "  Champion  thinks  I  am  wrong,  but  Champion  is  by 
nature  a  very  obstinate  partisan.     I  believe  Devereux  is  honest, 


AT   THE   LODGE.  I55 

and  I  believe  bis  case  is  a  strong  one.  TLe  lease  was  never 
registered,  but  he  has  a  witness  w^ho  can  swear  positively  to  his 
grandfather's  handwriting,  and  the  handwriting  of  Shelton,  who 
held  the  property.  One  thing  is  certain,  Mr.  Carlisle  was  not  as 
careful  as  he  ouo-ht  to  have  been  about  lookino-  into  the  titles 
when  he  bought  the  land.  Necessarily,  in  the  course  of  years, 
it  passed  through  many  hands,  but  a  thorough  business-man  goes 
back  to  the  fountain-head.  He  did  not  do  so.  Hence  this 
claim." 

"  And  you  think  it  ought  to  be  compromised  ?  "  said  Made- 
leine. 

"  I  am  not  so  positive  as  that.  I  told  you  it  was  a  case  of 
doubt.     But  I  am  inclined  to  think  so.     Devereux  is  willing: — 

c5 

indeed,  I  may  say  anxious — to  compromise,  and  of  course,  if  a 
decision  is  given  in  his  favor,  Mary  loses  the  whole.  Tell  me 
your  opinion.  Champion  is  as  determined  as  ever  to  fight  the 
matter  out.  He  firmly  believes  that  General  Mansfield  sold  the 
property  to  Shelton  in  the  year  1815." 

Madeleine  shook  her  head.  "  I  cannot  advise  you,"  she  said. 
"  You  must  act  as  you  think  best.  I  know  Mary  will  say  the 
same  thing.  She  throws  all  the  responsibility  on  your  shoulders, 
and  she  is  too  generous  as  well  as  too  just  to  blame  you,  what- 
ever happens.  But  I  somehow  think " — here  she  paused  and 
looked  up  in  his  face  with  an  expression  half-sad  and  half-amused 
— "  that  there  will  be  no  compromise  needed.  Do  you  remem- 
ber what  you  said  w^hen  Mr.  Devereux  came  ?  I  begin  to  be- 
lieve you  were  right." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  wishes  to  marry  Mary  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  mean  that.     I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  think  so." 
"  And  she  ?  "     Basil  stopped  short,  and  stood  with  the  keen- 
est interest  in  his  face.     "  Can  it  be  possible  she  will  think  of 
such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  My  poor  Mary  !  "  said  Madeleine,  with  a  thrill  of  tenderest 
pathos  in  her  voice.  "  She  was  talking  of  him  last  night,  and  I 
thought  I  could  perceive  that,  unconsciously  to  herself,  he  has 
touched  her  fancy,  which,  with  a  woman,  is  the  first  step  toward 


15  6  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

touching  her  heart.  From  Marj's  affliction  and  isolation,  her 
heart  will  be  all  the  more  easily  touched  by  one  so  attractive  as 
we  must  acknowledge  Mr.  Devereux  to  be.  Whether  he  is 
worthy  of  her  or  not,  that  is  another  question." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  right  ?  "  said  Basil,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  this  had  been  his  own  suggestion,  surprise  seemed 
his  predominant  emotion.  After  a  moment,  he  went  on  with 
energy :  "  There  is  no  need  to  question  whether  he  is  worthy  of 
her.  No  man  is  worth}'-  of  the  vyoman  whom  he  marries  solely 
as  a  matter  of  convenience.  If  Devereux  wishes  to  marry  Mary, 
it  can  only  be  for  that  reason.  I  don't  consider  him  the  design- 
ing fortune-hunter  that  I  suspected  him  to  be  at  first.  I  recog- 
nize the  fact  that,  as  a  man  of  the  world,  this  may  seem  to  him 
the  best  solution  of  the  difficulty.  With  manj'-  women  such  an 
arrangement  would  answer  very  well,  but — but  Mary  is  not  like 
other  women  to  us,  Madeleine." 

"  No,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  feel  as  you  do — such  a  thing,  con- 
nected with  Mary,  seems  like  a  desecration.  But  we  must  hope 
for  the  best.  ]\Ir.  Devereux  spoke  of  her  the  other  night  with  an 
unusual  degree  of  appreciation.  Perhaps  she  may  touch  his 
heart." 

Basil  looked  doubtful.  "  Men  like  Devereux  have  not,  as  a 
rule,  hearts  that  are  easily  touched,"  he  said.  "  He  has  evi- 
dently amused  himself  with  many  women — if  his  reputation  had 
not  preceded  him  I  should  know  that  from  the  manner  in  which 
he  speaks  of  them.  I  don't  mean  that  he  deals  in  hackneyed 
cynicism,  but  there  is  a  tone  of  contemptuous  lightness  running 
through  all  that  he  says  of  the  sex,  which  is  very  significant. 
And  this  reminds  me,"  the  speaker  went  on,  "  that  I  think  he  is 
inclined  to  amuse  himself  with  Rosalind.  It  might  be  well  if 
you  warned  her,  Madeleine,  that  he  is  not  the  kind  of  man  whose 
attentions  she  should  encourage." 

"  Does  she  need  the  warning  ?  "  asked  Madeleine.  "  Surely 
now  that  she  is  engaged — " 

"  I  am  afraid  her  enc^a2:ement  has  not  altered  Rosalind,"  said 
Basil.     "  She  seems  as  much  disposed  to  flirt  as  ever.    She  flirted 


AT  THE   LODGE.  157 

with  Devereux  last  night  to  a  degree  which  made  her  the  object 
of  general  attention  and  the  subject  of  general  remark." 

"  How  sorry  I  am  to  hear  it ! "  said  Madeleine,  with  a  look 
of  distress  in  her  eyes.  "  Such  conduct  is  so  unworthy  and  so 
unkind;  Rosalind  lowers  herself,  while  she  is  paining  as  faithful 
and  disinterested  a  lover  as  ever  woman  had.  What  did  Mr. 
Champion  think  of  her  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  say.  He  looked  as  black  as  mid- 
night, and  I  have  no  doubt  expressed  his  disapprobation  when 
he  was  taking  her  home,  but  I  was  not  there  to  hear  it.  If  she 
*s  not  careful  she  will  wear  out  his  patience :  he  is  not  a  man  to 
endure  such  treatment  beyond  a  certain  point. — Well,  I  must  go 
now."  They  had  been  walking  slowly  onward,  and  reached  the 
gate  at  this  moment.  "  Give  my  love  to  Mary,  but  it  is  not  ne- 
cessary to  say  any  thing  to  her  about  the  compromise  at  present. 
We  can  wait  a  little  longer,  and  see  what  turn  aflfairs  will  take." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  any  thing  about  yourself  yet," 
said  Madeleine,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  he  was  turn- 
ing to  mount  Roland.  "  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  think  you  have 
something  you  meant  to  tell." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  answered  with  a  slight  increase  of 
color.  "  I  have  exhausted  my  budget.  There  is  nothing  else 
with  which  I  need  burden  your  mind  or  your  heart.  I  am  as 
right  as  a  trivet.  God  bless  you .  Take  care  of  yourself,  and 
good-by ! " 

He  kissed  her  forehead  again,  then  sprang  into  his  saddle 
and  rode  off,  leaving  her  quite  still  in  the  open  gate — stricken  as 
it  were  into  silence.  What  did  he  mean  ?  She  felt  sure  that 
his  last  words,  his  last  caress,  had  some  more  than  ordinary 
meaning  attached  to  them — but  what  could  it  be  ?  Naturally 
her  mind  reverted  to  Lacy.  Did  Basil  suspect  any  thing  of  the 
subtile  estrangement  there  ? — or  was  the  trouble  his  own  ?  "  My 
poor  boy  !  "  she  thought  with  a  pang  of  that  vicarious  suffering 
which  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  some  women  to  endure  all  their  lives. 
"How  hard  it  seems  that  he  should  have  given  his  heart  to  such 
a  woman  as  Helen  Champion  !  " 


158  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

Basil,  on  his  part,  was  thinking  as  he  rode  away  that  his 
courage  had  failed  at  the  critical  moment,  that  he  could  not  tell 
Madeleine  how  Lacy  had  made  himself  conspicuous  the  evening 
before  by  his  devotion  to  Miss  Champion.  "  She  will  hear  it 
soon  enough,"  he  said,  grimly.  "  As  for  Lacy,  it  will  not  be  well 
for  him  to  attempt  any  thing  like  trifling — Heavens  what  a  rid- 
dle life  is  !  Now,  why  should  a  woman  like  Madeleine  have  fallen 
in  love  with  such  a  man  as  that  ?  " 

The  speaker  did  not  consider  that  the  world  is  full  of  such 
enigmas — that  he  who  looks  around  observantly  may  find  them 
by  the  score — and  that  no  one  has  ever  been  wise  enough  to 
solve  for  us  the  least  of  them.  They  are  part  of  that  great  mys- 
tery which  we  call  life,  that  burden  of  sore  doubt  and  misunder- 
standing, of  confused  meanings  and  hidden  purposes  that  only 
eternity  can  lift  away  and  nia"ke  clear  to  the  puzzled  soul. 

When  Madeleine  returned  to  the  house,  she  found  Miss  Car- 
lisle in  the  library,  where  she  usually  spent  her  mornings ;  looking 
very  fair  and  fragile,  in  a  white  cashmere  morning-robe,  as  she 
lay  on  a  couch  near  the  fire.  She  held  out  her  hands  with  a 
smile  when  she  heard  the  light,  welcome  step  which  entered. 

"  It  is  you,  Madeleine,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  How  differently 
you  walk  from  Aimt  Ingram  or  Jessie !  Are  you  well  this  morn- 
ing ?  You  can't  tell  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  wake  and  feel  that 
you  are  in  the  house  !  " 

"  I  am  always  well,"  answered  Madeleine,  kissing  her.  "  What 
should  ail  me  this  morning  ?  But  how  are  you  ?  Jessie  looked 
doubtful  when  I  asked  about  you  before  breakfast,  and  hinted 
darkly  that  you  were  kept  up  too  late  last  night." 

"  Jessie  knows  nothing  about  it,"  said  Mar}^,  "  I  was  not 
kept  up  too  late  at  all ;  and  I  am  quite  as  well  as  usual.  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  never  be  strong — I  never  have  been,  you  know. 
What  a  orood  thins:  it  is  on  that  account  that  I  am  rich  ! — for,  if  I 
were  poor,  I  should  be  a  terrible  burden  to  somebody." 

"You  can  never,  under  any  possible  circumstances,  be  a  bur- 
den to  anybody,"  said  Madeleine,  quickly.  Somehow  those  words 
— the  first  expression  of  satisfaction  in  her  wealth  which  she  had 


'      AT   THE  LODGE.  159 

ever  heard  the  blind  girl  utter — struck  her  strangely  and  almost 
painfully  coming  so  immediately  after  Basil's  foreboding  ac- 
knowledgment that  her  interests  were  ''  seriously  threatened." 
Of  course  in  no  case — even  granting  the  worst — would  Mary  Car- 
lisle be  poor  in  the  literal  meaning  of  the  term ;  but  still  that 
congratulation  made  Madeleine  feel  as  if  she  were  concealing 
something  which  it  was  the  other's  right  to  know. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  amuse  you  ?  "  she  said,  changing  the 
subject.  "  I  am  here  to  play  companion.  Shall  I  read  to  you  ? 
I  see  some  new  magazines  and  novels  on  the  table." 

"  One  of  the  magazines  has  an  essay  of  Gordon  Lacy's,  so 
Aunt  Ingram  told  me,"  said  Mary.     "  Read  that." 

Madeleine  obeyed,  nothing  loath.  She  was  an  admirable 
"reader,  and  Lacy's  prose,  like  his  poetry,  was  full  of  ease  and 
grace.  The  style  flowed  so  pleasantly,  the  pure,  delicate  English 
was  so  well  chosen,  there  was  so  much  of  sparkling  brightness 
here  and  tliere,  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  ask  whether 
there  v/as  not  a  certain  lack  of  nervous  vigor,  and  whether  the 
social  theories  which  the  v^^riter  expounded  were  sound,  or  his 
broadly  generalizing  criticism  always  just. 

Certainly,  these  questions  did  not  occur  to  the  reader  or  the 
listener.  The  fire  burned  with  a  pleasant  sound  on  the  hearth, 
the  mild,  balmy  air  came  in  through  the  open  window,  and  there 
was  a  tenderness  at  Madeleine's  heart  which  echoed  in  the  musi- 
cal rise  and  fall  of  her  voice.  She  w^as  blaming  herself  and  ex- 
alting the  writer  in  a  glow  of  remorseful  love  and  pride.  She 
longed  to  see  him,  in  order  that  she  might  put  her  self-reproach 
into  words,  and  make  generous  amend  for  every  expression  of 
seeming  depreciation  which  she  had  uttered. 

This  longing  was  so  strong  that,  when  a  peal  of  the  door- 
bell suddenly  echoed  through  the  house,  she  laid  the  magazine 
down  in  her  lap — almost  sure  that  he  of  whom  she  was  thinking 
had  come.  A  man's  voice  sounded  in  the  hall — a  sudden  flusfc 
rose  to  Mary  Carlisle's  cheeks.  She  thought,  "  It  is  Mr.  Dev 
ereux !  "  and  she  was  right.  It  was  Devereux,  not  Lacy,  who 
entered  the  room  when  the  door  opened. 


160  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

It  has  already  been  said  that  he  was  a  man  of  unusually 
quick  perceptions,  so  it  chanced  that  he  caught  the  look  of 
eager  expectation — the  love-light,  as  it  were,  of  welcome — shin- 
ing in  Madeleine's  eyes,  and  read  aright  the  disappointment  in 
which  that  liffht  died  out.  It  interested  him  and  wakened  his 
curiosity.  Miss  Severn,  who  rose  to  greet  him,  had  no  idea  how 
much  her  eyes,  in  one  swift  second,  had  betrayed. 

His  manner  certainly  did  not  enlighten  her.  He  advanced 
with  the  ease  which  always  characterized  him,  and  made  his 
apologies  for  appearing  so  early.  "  But  I  am  like  the  lover  in 
Shelley's  serenade,"  he  added,  with  a  smile.  "  '  A  spirit  in  my 
feet,'  brought  me,  whether  I  would  or  no.  How  well,  by-the- 
way,  Mr.  Lacy  sang  that  song  last  night.  Miss  Severn  !  " 

"  He  sings  very  well,  I  think,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  con- 
sciousness that  it  was  odd  that  Lacy's  name  should  be  the  first 
mentioned.  "  I  hope  you  enjoyed  your  evening,"  she  went 
on,  remembering  what  Basil  had  told  her  of  Rosalind's  flirta- 
tion. 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  answered  Devereux,  probably  mindful 
of  the  same  fact.  "  Miss  Champion  promises  to  be  an  energetic 
manager,  and  I  think  will  carry  the  theatricals  through  success- 
fully.    Do  you  not  mean  to  take  any  part  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  None  at  all.  I  do  not  think  that  I 
have  any  dramatic  talent,  and  I  am  sure  I  have  no  dramatic  am- 
bition." 

"  Rosalind  will  act  well,"  said  Mary.  "  She  intends  to  play, 
does  she  not  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  will  likely  be  the  star  actress — what  on  the 
lyric  stage  is  called  prima  do7ina  assoluta — of  the  company," 
answered  Devereux.  *'  She  is  already  cast  for  the  leading  part 
in  the  comedy." 

"  And  Helen  Champion,"  said  Miss  Carlisle.     "  What  part 

will  she  take  ?  " 

"  Miss  Champion  intends  to   play  an   after-piece  with    Mi 
Lacy,  in  which  she  will  share  her  laurels  with  no  one." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Mary.     It  was  impossible  for  her  not  to 


AT   THE   LODGE.  Igl 

wonder  what  Madeleine  thoiiglit  of  this.  But  Madeleine  only 
looked  up  with  a  smile.  Neither  suspicion  nor  jealousy  en- 
tered her  mind.  If  it  pleased  Lacy,  there  was  *no  reason 
why  he  should  not  play  a  dozen  after-pieces  with  Helen 
Champion. 

"  I  hope  they  will  extract  some  amusement  from  tlie  affair," 
she  said.  "  It  really  seems  to  me  a  laborious  pursuit  of  pleas- 
ure ;  but  who  can  account  for  tastes  !  Are  you  much  of  a  read- 
er, Mr.  Devereux  ?  "  she  added,  glancing  at  the  magazine  in  her 
hand.  "  Do  you  keep  up  with  the  current  literature  of  the 
day  ?  " 

"  I  confess,  to  my  shame,  that  I  am  very  little  of  a  reader," 
said  Devereux,  with  humility.  "  I  skim  the  journals,  and  man- 
age to  know  what  books  are  out,  but  as  for  reading  them — "  he 
paused  expressively. 

"  How  strange  !  "  said  Mary,  in  her  pathetic  voice.  "  If  I 
could  read,  I  should  like  literature  best  of  aU  things  !  I  often 
think  if  I  could  only  take  a  book  and  lose  myself  in  it — not  be 
obliged  to  tax  any  one  else's  eyes  and  throat  in  my  service — 
pain  might  be  forgotten,  and  life  prove  easy.  And  you,  who 
can  read — you  do  not  care  for  it !  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  express  quite  so  much  as  that,"  said  he ; 
"  but  you  make  me  feel  how  little  I  have  appreciated  a  great 
source  of  enjoyment.  But  then,  one  might  feel  that  of  almost 
every  thing.  In  truth,  I  have  lived  a  life  which  does  not  fit  one 
for  intellectual  pleasures  ;  the  most  barren  and  aimless  life  in 
the  world,  I  begin  to  think— that  of  a  society-man." 

"  If  you  feel  that  it  is  barren  and  aimless,  why  do  you  con- 
tinue to  live  it?"  asked  Mary,  with  the  direct  frankness  which 
people  were  good  enough  to  pardon  in  her. 

"  One  falls  into  a  groove,"  he  answered,  "  in  which  it  is  less 
trouble  to  walk  than  to  rouse  one's  self  and  step  out  of  it.  ] 
have  never  had  a  motive  to  rouse  me,  and  I  have  been  an  epicu- 
rean from  my  birth,  liking  pleasure,  loving  ease.  If  I  were  ab- 
solutely a  poor  man,  now — "  Here  he  stopped.  "  I  am  tempted 
to  be  frank  with  you,"  he  went  on  after  a  moment,  addressing 


162  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

Mary,  yet  looking  at  Madeleine.  "  Personal  details  are  never 
in  good  taste,  but  it  may  help  you  to  understand  why  I  am  here. 
I  came  out  of  the  war  with  only  a  moderate  fortune,  and  I  lived 
extravagantly.  The  result  was  that  my  means  were  soon  very 
much  diminished — so  much  diminished  that  I  was  obliged  to 
apply  to  Mr.  Stringfellow,  a  keen  lawyer  and  old  friend  of  my 
father's,  for  legal  aid  in  some  pecuniary  difficulties.  He  found 
my  affairs  in  a  desperate  state,  and,  in  examining  them,  he  hit 
upon  this  matter  of  the  forgotten  lease.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
expression  of  his  face  when  he  said  to  me,  '  Well,  Mr.  Devereux, 
I  have  found  another  fortune  for  you  to  make  ducks  and  drakes 
of ! '  The  lease  had  already  expired,  and  he  instituted  suit  at  once 
for  the  recovery  of  the  property.  It  went  on  for  two  years  with- 
out my  troubling  myself  much  about  it,  but  during  this  past  sum- 
mer I  met  some  people  who  knew  j^ou  " — he  spoke  directly  to 
^lary — "  and  they  told  me  so  much  of  you,  that  I  began  to  feel 
as  if  I  should  like  to  know  you,  also.  To  Mr.  Stringfellow's 
disgust,  I  determined  to  come  and  offer  to  compromise.  I  came, 
and  you  know  the  result.  Tf  the  suit  goes  against  me,  I  shall 
be  a  poor  man ;  but  that  may  be  for  the  best.  I  have  been  a 
good-for-nothing  all  my  life.  Perhaps  I  possess  no  ability  to  be 
any  thing  else  ;  but,  if  there  is  any  power  of  doing  in  me,  pov- 
erty ought  to  bring  it  out." 

"  Poverty  must  be  a  terrible  thing,"  said  Mary,  "  though  I 
speak  of  it  as  one  safely  sheltered  talks  of  tempests.  How 
would  you  learn  to  struggle  with  it  after  such  a  life  of  careless 
ease  ?  I  begin  to  think  with  you  that  the  claim  should  be  com- 
promised." 

A  sudden  flush  rose  to  Devereux's  face.  "  You  cannot  do  me 
the  injustice  of  supposing  that  I  spoke  of  myself  with  any  ref- 
erence to  that,  with  any  idea  of  touching  your  compassion  ! "  he 
said.     "  I  must  beg  you  to  believe — " 

Mary  lifted  her  hand  w^ith  a  slight  silencing  gesture.  "  I  do 
you  no  injustice,"  she  said,  softly.  "  I  believe  that  you  have 
thought  of  me  more  than  of  yourself ;  but  you  must  not  quarrel 
with  me  if,  in  turn,  T  think  of  you  a  little." 


AT   THE   LODGE.  1G3 

"Quarrel  with  you!"  said  Devereux,  touched  by  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  words  and  smile.  "  You  know  that  is  impossible. 
But  I  cannot  permit  you  to  think  of  me  in  such  a  way.  I  am  a 
man,  though  a  good-for-nothing  one.  I  shall  do  well  in  any 
event." 

"  You  cannot  be  sure  of  that,"  said  Mary,  with  a  serious  air. 
Then,  hearing  the  rustling  sound  of  Madeleine's  dress  as  the  lat- 
ter suddenly  rose,  she  turned  to  her.  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 
slie  asked  quickly. 

"  Only  to  meet  Rosalind,  who  is  coming  toward  the  house," 
answered  Madeleine.  "  No  doubt  she  wishes  to  see  me.  I 
shall  be  back  presently." 

"  Bring  her  with  you,"  said  Mary.  "  Mr.  Devereux  and  her- 
self can  compare  notes  of  the  last  night's  entertainment,  and  we 
can  listen." 

Madeleine  said  nothing — she  did  not  even  glance  toward  Dev- 
ereux to  see  how  he  received  this  suggestion — as  she  crossed  the 
floor,  and  passed  out  of  the  open  window,  through  which  she  had 
perceived  Rosalind  approaching;  She  was  possessed  by  a  feeling 
of  angry  contempt  so  unusual,  that  it  almost  startled  her.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  whether  this  feeling  was  most  strongly  directed 
against  Rosalind  or  Devereux,  or  whether  it  was  shared  equally 
between  them.  She  felt  an  instinct  approaching  to  a  conviction 
that  their  meeting  at  the  Lodge  was  not  altogether  an  accident 
— and  if  it  w^ere  arranged,  there  was  an  air  of  duplicity  about  it 
which  made  her  heart  stir  with  a  hot  sense  of  indio-nation.  If 
they  wanted  to  flirt,  had  they  not  honor  enough  to  do  it  openly 
and  brave  the  consequences  ?  This  was  what  she  thought  as 
she  swept  by  Devereux  with  disdain,  and  stepped  out  on  the 
piazza  to  meet  Rosalind. 

That  young  lady  was  looking  quite  as  lovely  as  usual,  as  she 
advanced  tow^ard  the  house.  Nothing  that  could  possibly  hap 
pen  ever  disturbed  Rosalind  ;  unless,  indeed,  it  happened  tc 
herself.  The  misfortunes,  the  anxieties,  the  troubles  of  others, 
caused  no  ripp.e  on  the  smooth  surface  of  her  content  and  self- 
complacency.     Not  even  a  recollection  of  the  pain  she  had  in- 


164  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

flicted  on   Champion  marred  her  calm.     She  was  not  cruel,  as 
some  women  are,  for  the  very  love  of  cruelty ;  but  she  was  en 
tirely  absorbed  in  herself,  and  wrapped  in  egoism  like  a  garment 

She  looked  a  little  surprised  as  Madeleine  descended  the 
piazza-steps  to  meet  her.  "  Good-morning,"  she  said,  with  her 
light,  rippling  laugh.  "  I  did  not  know  that  there  was  a  watch- 
tower  here,  from  which  you  observed  the  approach  of  visitors. 
How  is  Mary  to-day  ?  " 

"  She  is  as  usual,"  replied  Madeleine,  with  a  strain  of  cold- 
ness in  her  voice.  "  But  she  is  occupied  just  now,  so  I  came 
out  to  meet  you,  thinking  most  likely  you  wanted  specially  to 
see  me." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Rosalind,  quietly.  "  I  only  walked  out 
because  the  morning  was  pleasant  and  I  had  nothing  to  do  at 
home.  If  Mary  is  occupied — but  how  strange  that  Mary  should 
be  occupied  !  I  did  not  know  that  she  ever  attended  to  business 
or  any  thing  of  that  kind." 

"  She  is  not  attending  to  business,"  said  Madeleine ;  "  a  vis- 
itor is  with  her.  If  you  will  come  into  the  drawing-room,  or  up 
in  m}'^  room — " 

"  No,  thanks,"  interrupted  Rosalind.  "  The  open  air  is  much 
pleasanter.  We  can  walk  here  until  the  important  visitor  is 
gone.     I  should  like  to  see  Marj^" 

"  We  will  walk  in  the  garden,  then,"  said  Madeleine. 

She  turned  in  that  direction  as  she  spoke,  and  Rosalind  did 
not  demur,  though  she  knew  perfectly  well  who  the  visitor  was. 
It  was  no  part  of  her  policy  to  seem  to  seek  Devereux's  atten- 
tions, and  she  thought  as  she  moved  away  that  the  step  would 
have  a  good  effect.  He  could  not  now  suspect  her  of  having 
come  to  meet  him.  She  was  consoling  herself  with  this  re- 
flection, when  Madeleine  spoke. 

"  Basil  was  here  an  hour  or  two  ago,"  she  said.  "  He  looked, 
I  thought,  a  little  jaded,  and  not  as  if  he  had  enjoyed  himself 
last  night." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  did  enjo}^  it,"  responded  Rosalind,  cool- 
ly ;  and,  being  vexed,  though  she  showed  no  sign  of  it,  she  went 


AT  THE  LODGE.  165 

on  with  the  dehberate  intention  of  annoying  her  companion, 
"  Helen  Champion  spent  the  evening  flirting  with  Gordon  Lacy. 
You  can  imagine  whether  or  not  that  was  pleasant  to  Basil.  I 
wonder  he  did  not  give  you  a  hint  that  you  had  better  look 
after  your  property." 

"  Basil  knows  that  I  trust  Gordon  entirely,"  said  Madeleine, 
in  her  calm,  proud  voice.  "  But  how  can  you,  Rosalind,  talk  of 
others  flirting,  when  I  heard  with  the  deepest  regret  that  you 
made  yourself  conspicuous  last  night  by  the  manner  in  which 
you  received  Mr.  Devereux's  attentions." 

"  I  suppose  Basil  told  you  that,"  said  Rosalind,  nonchalant- 
ly, "  How  strange  that  he  had  only  an  eye  for  my  small  pecca- 
dilloes !  Mr.  Devereux  was  the  most  agreeable  man  in  the 
room,  why  should  I  not  have  received  his  attentions?  I  was 
very  much  obliged  to  him  for  entertaining  me  so  well  as  he 
did.'' 

"  The  most  agreeable  man  in  the  room  ! "  repeated  Made- 
leine.    "  Where  was  Mr.  Champion  ?  " 

Rosalind  laughed,  half  mockingly.  "  James  was  there,"  she 
said,  "  and  would  no  doubt  be  infinitely  gratified  by  the  compli- 
ment your  question  implies.  But  he  is  not  Darby  yet,  and  I 
am  not  Joan — pledged  to  think  him  the  pleasantest  as  well  as 
the  wisest  man  in  the  world." 

"  Rosalind,  how  can  you  speak  so  lightly ! "  said  Madeleine, 
pausing  abruptly,  with  a  glow  in  her  eyes.  "  How  can  you  be 
so  ungrateful,  and — forgive  me  if  I  speak  plainly — so  unfeeling  ? 
Do  you  think  that  it  is  honorable  to  pledge  yourself  to  marry 
one  man,  and  then  to  lower  yourself  and  him  by  flirting  with 
another  ?  Basil  said  I  must  tell  you  that  Mr.  Devereux  is  not  a 
man  whose  attentions  you  ought  to  encourage,  even  if  you  were 
not  engaged.     But  since  you  are  engaged — " 

*'  Since  I  am  engaged,"  interposed  Rosalind,  coldly,"  "  I  can 
manage  my  own  affairs,  without  the  assistance  of  Basil  or  your- 
self. I  know  what  I  am  doing.  As  for  my  being  ungrateful 
and  unfeeling,  that   is — stuff!     I  have  never  thanked   James 

Champion  humbly  for  the  honor  he  did  me  in  asking  me  to  mar* 
8 


/• 


1G6  A   QUESTION   OF  IIOXOE. 

ry  liim,  and  I  have  no  idea  that  his  heart  will  break  because  I 
amuse  nij^^self  with  Mr.  Devereux." 

"  You  cannot  deny  that  he  was  pained,"  said  Madeleine. 
"  Eyen  Basil  saw  that." 

"  He  was  jealous  and  angry,"  said  Rosalind,  carelessly. 
"  We  had  rather  a  stormy  scene  last  night,  and  I  am  glad  he 
has  gone  off  to  his  courts  this  morning,  and  will  not  be  back 
for  two  weeks.  A  jealous  man  is  a  dreadful  bore,"  pursued  the 
young  lady,  contemplatively.  "  I  like  people  who  take  things 
lightly  and  gracefull}'',  like  Mr.  Devereux." 

"  There  are  certainly  disadvantages  connected  with  feeling 
any  thing  deeply,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  tone  of  scorn  in  her 
voice. 

After  this  there  was  silence.  They  paced  slowly  along  be- 
tween the  flower-beds  all  aglow  with  bright  autumn  flowers,  and 
the  rose-bushes  laden  with  sweet  blossoms,  yet  neither  of  them 
heeded  these  things — Rosalind  because  she  was  wondering 
whether  Devereux  would  go  without  making  an  opportunity  to 
speak  to  her,  Madeleine  because  her  thoughts  were  in  a  tumult. 
This  was  how  the  world  went,  she  said  to  herself  with  unaccus- 
tomed bitterness.  To  the  light  of  soul  fell  the  rich  gifts  of 
life — the  love,  faith,  devotion,  loyalty,  which  are  worth  more 
than  the  wealth  of  kings  !  While  to  others — somehow,  she 
could  go  no  farther  than  this.  There  was  a  pain  at  her  heart 
which  she  could  not  or  would  not  analyze.  She  turned  her 
back  on  the  demon  of  suspicion,  but  how  could  she  still  the 
pang  that  was  like  a  lance  ? 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  the  walk,  they  turned  to  re- 
trace their  steps  toward  the  house.  Then  Rosalind  uttered  a 
slight  exclamation  which  caused  Madeleine,  who  was  looking 
down,  to  glance  up.  At  the  end  of  the  long  alley  two  figures, 
framed  in  green,  were  advancing  toward  them.  One  was  Miss 
Carlisle,  the  other  Mr.  Devereux. 


"OX  PLEASURE   BENT."  .  167 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"ox     PLEASURE     BEI«"T." 

"  So  it  is  Mr.  Devereux  wlio  is  Mary's  visitor ! "  said  Rosa- 
lind, with  the  least  possible  accent  of  triumph.  "  Odd  of  you 
not  to  mention  the  fact !  You  surely  did  not  fear  that  I  would 
go  in  and  take  his  attention  by  storm,  did  you  ?" 

"  You  know  that  I  feared  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Made- 
leine.    "  But  I  did  not  think  that  his  presence  concerned  you." 

She  spoke  quietly,  yet  she  was  in  truth  very  much  disturbed 
by  Devereux's  appearance.  It  seemed  to  justify  her  worst  fore- 
bodings, and  changed  all  the  kindly  feeling  which  she  had  be- 
gun to  entertain  for  him  as  Mary  Carlisle's  possible  suitor  into 
dislike  and  distrust.  It  may  be  thought,  perhaps,  that  she  was 
rio-id  and  strained  in  her  ideas  of  w4iat  constituted  honorable 
conduct,  but  she  only  followed  in  this  the  tradition  of  her  fam- 
ily. If  Devereux  wished  to  marry  Mary  Carlisle,  was  it  honor- 
able of  him  to  amuse  himself  with  the  vanity  of  another  woman, 
and,  above  all,  to  make  Mary's  own  house  a  place  of  rendezvous  ? 
This  was  what  Madeleine  was  saying  to  herself  when  they  met 
the  others,  and  paused. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Rosalind  ?  "  said  Mary.  "  It  is  Rosalind, 
is  it  not  ?  You  see  we  came  in  search  of  you,  Madeleine. — The 
day  is  so  pleasant,  I  thought  I  should  like  to  enjoy  the  air." 

"It  is  pleasant,"  said  Madeleine,  "in  a  sere  soft,  autumn 
fashion  ;  but  too  damp  for  you,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Don't  believe  her,  Mary — it  is  not  damp  at  all,"  said  Rosa- 
lind, with  a  light  kiss.  Then  she  turned  to  Devereux  with  her 
eyes  shining  under  their  silken  lashes,  an  enchanting  smile  dim- 
pling her  cheeks  and  showing  her  pearl-like  teeth.  "  How  are 
you  this  morning,  after  your  arduous  exertions  last  night  ?  "  she 
asked.     "  I  had  no  idea  of  meeting  you  here." 

"It  is  a  very  charming   place  to    be  met,"  answered   he. 


168  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  May  I  say  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well  ?     Evi- 
dently your  social  duties  last  night  did  not  exhaust  you." 

"  What  social  duties  had  you,  Rosalind  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"None  at  all  except  to  be  amused,"  answered  Rosalind. 
"  There  was  a  good  deal  that  loas  amusing,  too,  was  there  not  ?  " 
(this  to  Devereux),  "  Everybody  was  so  comically  selfish  and 
intent  upon  getting  the  best  of  every  thing  for  themselves  and 
their  friends.  Human  nature,  regarded  from  a  dramatic  point 
of  view,  is  certainly  a  study." 

"  Is  it  not  a  study  from  any  point  of  view  ?  "  asked  Devereux. 
"  But  whether  it  repays  one  'for  devoting  time  and  attention  to 
it,  may  be  doubted." 

"  I  should  think  that,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  it  would  re- 
pay one  best,"  said  Mary. 

"  Such  an  opinion  speaks  well  for  your  own  disposition,  and 
for  the  friends  you  have  made,"  said  Devereux.  "But  cj^nical, 
worldly-wise  people  like  Miss  Rosalind  Severn  and  mj^self,  can- 
not agree  with  you." 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  classing  me  with  yourself  as  cyn- 
ical and  worldly-wise  ?  "  demanded  Rosalind,  looking  at  him  w4th 
lauerhino-  eves. 

"  I  thought  you  favored  me  with  a  good  deal  of  that  kind  of 
philosophy  on  the  piazza  last  night,"  he  answered,  half-uncon- 
sciously  lowering  his  voice  a  little. 

"  Ah,"  said  she,  gayly,  in  the  same  tone,  "  but  that  was  all 
moonshine." 

Talking  in  this  manner,  the  quartet  strolled  about  the  garden 
for  some  time — Rosalind  and  Devereux  bearing  the  chief  burden 
of  conversation,  Mary  joining  in  occasionally,  but  Madeleine  say- 
ing scarcely  any  thing  at  all.  Often  she  looked  back  to  this 
morning,  and  thought  of  it  as  the  beginning  of  a  time  of  doubt 
and  trouble.  The  flowers,  the  fragrance,  the  south  wind  laden 
with  coming  rain,  all  seemed  full  of  the  suggestion  of  anxiety — 
all  seemed  to  stamp  the  occasion  with  picture-like  vividness  on 
her  memory. 

When  they  finally  returned  to  the  liouse,  Mary  asked  Rosa- 


"OX   PLEASURE   BENT."  169 

lind  to  comg  into  the  drawing-rooiu  and  sing  for  lier.  "  I  do  not 
have  so  much  music  as  I  should  like,"  she  said,  "  and  your  songs 
always  please  me." 

"  So  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you  at  last ! "  said 
Devereux  to  the  girl,  as  she  hesitated 

"  And  the  pleasure  of  laughing  at  me,  very  likely,"  she  re- 
torted. "  Only  remember,  please,  that  I  know  quite  as  well  as 
you  do  that  my  voice  is  nothing." 

*'  But  at  least  you  will  sing,"  said  Mary,  v>dien  they  entered 
the  hall. 

"  If  you  reall}^  wish  to  hear  me,"  Rosalind  answered,  turning 
toward  the  drawing-room. 

There  was  no  fire  in  this  room,  but  the  air  everywhere  was 
mild  and  warm.  Madeleine  opened  a  window,  and  Devereux 
raised  the  lid  of  the  piano.  Rosalind  sat  down  and  began  to. sing-. 
Slie  had  a  clear  mezzo-soprano  voice,  flexible  and  sweet,  and, 
though  untrained,  she  sang  with  taste ;  it  is  not  possible,  how- 
ever, to  add  with  feeling.  She  knew  this,  and  consequently  she 
rarely  attempted  to  render  a  song  which  required  any  thing  like 
pathos.  But  certain  light  and  graceful  melodies  she  sang  charm- 
ingly. On  the  present  occasion  she  did  herself  more  than  justice. 
Her  gay  tones  rang  out  with  silvery  effect.  "  Through  the  wood, 
through  the  wood,  follow  and  find  me ! "  the  arch-voice  lilted. 
Devereux  stood  leaning  against  the  piano,  handsome  and  indo- 
lent, his  eyes  on  the  singer's  face.  At  the  other  side  of  the 
instrument  Mary  sat,  while  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room 
Madeleine's  slender  figure  was  outlined  against  the  light,  as 
she  stood  by  the  window  she  had  opened.  It  was  the  same 
window  at  which  Devereux  had  seen  her  when  he  came  to  the 
Lodge  first.  He  thought  of  this  as  he  glanced  toward  her  once 
or  twice. 

Presently  the  song  ceased,  and  compliments  were  paid ;  then 
other  songs  followed,  and  might  have  continued  for  some  time, 
if  Madeleine,  in  one  of  the  interludes,  had  not  approached  Mary. 

"  You  will  take  cold  in  this  atmosphere,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
very  damp.     Come  over   to  the  library.     If  Rosalind  wishes  to 


170  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

go  on  singing,  and  you  wisli  to  hear  her,  the  doors  can  be  left 
open." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  desire  to  go  on  singing,"  said  Rosalind, 
rising.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  must  say  good-morning,  and  take  my 
way  back  to  Stansbury.  Mamma  will  be  wondering  what  has 
become  of  me. — Good-by,  Mary — I  shall  come  out  soon  and 
spend  the  day  with  you." 

"  What !  are  you  going  ?  "  said  Mary.    "  Not  before  luncheon, 
surely  ?   I  cannot  hear  of  such  a  thing !    You  must  stay — and,  Mr 
Devereux,  you  will  stay  also,  will  j'ou  not  ?  " 

Devereux  felt  no  inclination  to  decline — especially  when 
Miss  Carlisle  added,  "  I  will  order  the  pony-carriage  afterward, 
and  you  can  drive  Rosalind  back  to  Stansbury." 

"  My  dear  Mary,  how  kind  of  you  !  "  said  Rosalind.  "  But  I 
dislike  to  trouble  Mr.  Devereux." 

"  The  trouble  will  certainly  be  terrible,"  said  Devereux,  look- 
ins-  at  her  with  a  smile. 

They  adjourned  to  the  library  after  this,  and  found  Mrs. 
Ingram  established  there.  She  had  come  down  sjDecially  to  see 
Devereux,  concerning  whom  her  curiosity  was  greatly  excited ; 
yet,  when  Madeleine  presented  him,  she  acknowledged  the  intro- 
duction very  stiflQy.  What  business  had  this  claimant  of  Mary 
Carlisle's  rightful  property,  under  the  roof  of  the  Lodge,  she 
thought,  being  one  of  those  quietly  venomous  people  who  are 
esteemed  amiable  by  the  many,  and  are  only  known  by  the 
few. 

"  What  a  charming  room  this  is ! "  said  Rosalind,  sinking 
into  a  puffy  chair  that  was  a  very  nest  of  luxurious  comfort.  She 
heaved  a  heart-felt  sigh  as  she  did  so.  Why  was  not  all  this 
brightness  and  grace  of  wealth  hers?  If  it  only  could  be! 
Already,  from  a  mere  day-dream,  this  idea  had  grown  to  a  tan- 
gible desire.  She  looked  at  Devereux,  who  was  essaying  a  few 
commonplaces  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Ingram.  How  she  ad- 
mired him  !  How  entirely  such  a  husband,  and  such  a  house, 
would  suit  her ;  would  realize  all  her  aspirations  and  desires ! 
What  would  become  of  Mary  in  such  a  case,  she  did  not  trouble 


"ON  PLEASURE   BENT."  17X 

herself  to  consider,  further  than  that  no  doubt  she  Vv^ould  be  very- 
comfortable  with  Madeleine  and  Basil. 

Leaving  the  group  about  the  library-fire,  Miss  Severn,  mean- 
while, sought  Jessie  out  in  the  region  of  the  store-room,  and 
suggested  that  luncheon  should  be  served  as  speedily  as  possible. 
*'  Rosalind  and  Mr.  Devereux  are  here,"  she  said,  "  and  I  think 
the  sooner  they  go  the  better — Mary  is  exerting  herself  too 
much." 

"  She'll  bring  on  some  o'  them  awful  spasms  of  the  heart  if 
she  don't  take  care,"  said  Jessie,  anxiously.  "  I  saw  her  walking 
in  the  garden  with  Mr.  Devereux.  Miss  Madeleine,  what  is  he 
comin'  here  for  ?  " 

-  "  How  can  I  tell  ? "  answered  Madeleine,  who  understood 
perfectly  the  drift  of  the  question.  "  Have  luncheon,  Jessie,  at 
once,  and  don't  forget  to  put  down  wine — claret  and  sherry  will 
answer,  I  suppose." 

"  Is  there  any  thing  else  you  can  think  of,  Miss  Madeleine  ?  " 
asked  Jessie,  who  always  scorned  to  accept  a  word  of  advice 
from  Mrs.  Ingram.  "  It  isn't  often  a  gentleman  comes  to  the 
Lodge,  and  a  body  likes  to  have  things  nice." 

"  You  always  have  them  nice,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  cannot 
think  of  anj'  thing  else  to  suggest.     But  pray  make  haste." 

She  went  back  to  the  library  after  this  adjuration,  and  Jessie 
did  make  haste.  In  less  than  fifteen  minutes,  Albert,  the  tall, 
black,  well-trained  servant,  who  had  waited  in  the  Carlisle  dining- 
room  ever  since  he  was  a  boy,  appeared,  and  announced  that 
luncheon  was  ready. 

The  dining-room  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  apartments  of  the 
Lodge — pleasant  and  thoroughly  well  fitted  up  as  they  all  were 
— and  immediately  in  front  of  a  deeply-recessed  bay-window, 
draped  with  lace  curtains,  stood  the  round-table,  on  which  was 
spread  a  luncheon  that  was  dainty  enough  to  tempt  the  appetite 
of  a  valetudinarian.  Devereux  was  charmed.  Like  all  men,  he 
appreciated  excellence  in  the  gastronomic  department,  and  after 
a  week  or  two  at  the  Stansbury  Hotel,  he  was  specially  fitted 
to  enjoy  this  well-served  collation,  with  its  carefully-prepared 


172  A   QUESTION  OF  HOXOR. 

dishes,  snowy  damask,  beautiful  china,  and  fragile  glass.  The 
wine,  too,  w^as  good — better  than  is  usually  found  in  a  lady's 
cellar — and  altogether  he  felt  like  one  for  whom  the  gods  liaA^e 
a  special  care.  He  had  come  to  this  strange  region  on  an  abso- 
lute uncertainty,  not  knowing  what  manner  of  people  he  should 
find,  and  lo  !  how  Fortune  had  rewarded  his  somewhat  blunder- 
ing effort  to  do  the  thing  which  was  right !  When,  in  all  his 
life,  had  he  ever  found  a  more  interesting  character  than  that 
of  the  blind  girl  by  his  side,  or  a  more  exquisite  face  than  that 
of  Rosalind,  which  blushed  and  dimpled  opposite  him  ? 

When  luncheon  ended,  the  pony-carriage  was  standing  before 
the  door,  and  Rosalind  put  on  her  gloves.  "  Are  you  ready  to 
play  cavalier  ?  "  she  said  to  Devereux.  "  I  do  not  know  how  to 
drive.  Madeleine  is  an  accomplished  w^hip,  but  I  make  it  a  rule 
never  to  learn  to  do  troublesome  things.  Then  somebody  else 
'iiiust  do  them  for  me." 

"An  excellent  rule,"  said  he,  smiling;  "at  least  it  seems 
excellent  to  me  just  now.  In  fact,  at  all  times,  one  of  the  chief 
charms  of  a  woman  is  her  helplessness." 

"  Why  not  say  her  selfishness  at  once ! "  Madeleine  thought 
— ^but  such  thoughts  as  these  are  among  the  large  number  that 
never  find  expression.  She  did  not  know  whether  Devereux 
was  sincere,  or  Vvhether  he  was  merely  uttering  a  commonplace 
of  gallantry ;  but  she  was  well  used  to  hearing  foolish  and  selfish 
speeches  commended  when  spoken  with  infantine  sweetness  by 
lips  of  coral. 

"  Good-by  again,  Mary ! "  said  Rosalind.  "  I  have  spent  such 
a  pleasant  morning,  and  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  sending 
me  home  in  this  delightful  fashion  !  " 

"Let  me  bid  you  good-morning  also,  Miss  Carlisle,"  said 
Devereux,  "  and  thank  you  for  your  graceful  hospitality.  Will 
3^ou  forgive  the  unconscionable  length  of  my  visit,  and  permit 
me  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  soon  again  ?  " 

"  The  length  of  your  visit  is  very  easily  forgiven,"  said  Mary, 
as  he  took  her  hand,  "  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  when  you 
come  again." 


"ON   PLEASURE   BENT."  173 

The  soft  graciousness  of  the  tone  was  more  than  the  words 
— was  so  much,  indeed,  that  Devereux  felt  strongly  tempted  to 
lift  to  his  lips  the  delicate  hand  which  lay  in  his.  But,  even  if 
they  had  been  alone,  he  would  scarcely  have  ventured  on  this — 
of  30urse  with  three  ladies  standing  by  such  a  thing  was  not  to 
be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  He  pressed  the  hand  slightly, 
however,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  Do  not  blame  me  if  I  come  too 
soon." 

"  ^Yhen  do  you  exj^ect  to  return  to  Stansbury,  Madeleine  ?  " 
Rosalind  was  sajdng,  meanwhile,  in  her  careless  voice.  "  Hon- 
estly, I  think  Gordon  needs  looking  after — which  reminds  me 
that  Helen  Champion  is  very  anxious  to  know  definitely  if  you 
will  not  take  a  part  in  the  dramatic  entertainment  with  which 
Stansbury  is  to  be  edified." 

"  Let  her  know  as  definitely  as  possible  that  I  shall  not," 
answered  Medeleine,  a  little  coldly.  She  would  have  scorned 
herself  if  she  had  been  "jealous  "  for  a  moment,  but  still  human 
nature  is  only  human  nature ;  and  it  was  with  Helen  Champion 
that  Lacy's  name  had  been  coupled  before  this. 

Then  Devereux  led  the  young  lady  out  and  assisted  her  into 
the  luxurious  little  phaeton,  where  she  leaned  back  with  an  air 
of  extreme  satisfaction,  while  he  took  his  seat  by  her  side,  Joe 
sprang  to  the  rumble  behind,  and  the  ponies  darted  ofi".  The 
air  was  more  damp  than  it  had  been  an  hour  or  two  before,  the 
clouds  had  gathered  more  grayly,  prospect  of  rain  was  more 
certain ;  but  there  was  a  sense  of  exhilaration  in  the  moist  fresh- 
ness of  the  atmosphere,  and  the  breeze  created  by  their  swift 
motion  soon  brought  a  lovely  flush  to  Rosalind's  face. 

"  Oh,  how  delicious  this  is !"  she  cried,  as  they  swept  out  of 
the  Lodge-gates.  "Pray,  Mr.  Devereux,  if  you  have  no  spe- 
cial reason  for  going  at  once  to  Stansbury,  let  us  take  a  drive ! 
Mary  never  goes  out  such  a  day  as  this,  but  i"  think  it  is  perfect 
— the  southerly  wind  and  cloudy  sky  of  the  old  hunting-ballad." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  ! "  said  Devereux,  who  thought  that  he 
might  be  more  uncomfortably  placed.  "  I  am  obedient  to  your 
commands.     Tell  me  where  to  go." 


174  A   QUESTIOX   OF  HONOR. 

"  Turn  here  to  the  right,"  said  Rosalind.  This  was  the  road 
away  from  the  mills,  for  she  had  no  desire  to  meet  Basil.  Dev- 
ereux  obeyed,  and  with  their  horses'  heads  turned  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  from  Stansbury,  and  the  southerly  wind  in  their 
faces,  thev  bowled  alons;  over  the  smooth  autumn  roads.  "  Who 
would  not  be  rich ! "  thought  Rosalind,  with  a  sense  that  the 
transformation  scene  in  her  life  was  about  to  dawn.  The  cin- 
ders of  jDOverty,  metaphorically  speaking,  had  been  her  portion 
during  many  weary  years,  but  the  turn  of  fortune's  wheel  had 
come  at  last,  and  she  was  to  be  lifted  to  that  position  for  which 
she  was  fitted,  and  which  she  felt  a  calm  certainty  of  adorning. 

It  boots  not  to  tell  how  far  this  well-entertained  pair  drove, 
nor  at  what  hour  they  returned  to  Stansbury.  To  them  the  re- 
sult of  their  morning's  visit  was  no  doubt  thoroughly  agreeable 
and  satisfactory.  It  was  an  example  of  the  different  effects 
which  may  follow  the  same  cause  that  it  was  exactly  the  oppo- 
site of  these  things  at  the  Lodge.  Miss  Carlisle,  as  Madeleine 
feared,  had  been  too  much  excited.  The  inevitable  conse- 
quences of  excitement  and  exertion  followed.  After  the  vis- 
itors left,  she  complained  of  lassitude.  "  Lie  down,  and  I  will 
read  you  to  sleep,"  Madeleine  said.  But  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  sleep  for  Mary — though  tired,  she  was  still  full  of  ner- 
vous excitement.  By  evening  she  was  feverish  and  suffering 
■with  those  "  spasms  of  the  heart "  which  Jessie  had  prophesied  • 
and  by  ten  o''clock  at  night  a  messenger  was  galloping  into 
Stansbury  for  Dr.  Arthur. 

He  came,  to  find  his  patient  suffering  with  her  most  danger- 
ous malady — that  terrible  form  of  heart-disease  known  as  an- 
gina pectoris.  Madeleine  and  Jessie  were  by  her  bedside — they 
had  shared  many  a  vigil  like  this  before,  and  knew  perfectly  all 
that  could  be  done,  and  how  to  do  it — while  Mrs.  Ingram  dozed 
placidly  near  the  fire.  Nobody  was  paying  the  least  attention 
to  her,  but  she  thought  that  it  would  not  "  look  w^ell "  if  she 
was  not  visible  when  the  doctor  came ;  so  she  established  her- 
self comfortably  in  a  deep  chair,  placed  her  feet  on  a  cushion, 
and  said  "  O  dear  ! "  and  "  poor  child !  "  at  sympathetic  inter- 


"ON  PLEASURE   BENT."  I75 

vals,  when  Mary's  agony  found  expression  in  shuddering  moans 
and  gasps. 

It  was  agony  such  as  Madeleine  had  never  seen  her  suffer 
before,  and  she  was  not  surprised  that  Dr.  Arthur's  face  settled 
into  anxious  gravity  as  soon  as  he  approached  the  bedside.  He 
pent  the  night  there,  and  only  took  .his  departure  in  the  morn- 
ing when  the  paroxysms  of  pain  had  at  last  subsided,  and  tlie 
3xhausted  girl  sank  to  sleep  under  the  influence  of  the  opiates 
<\'hich  had  been  freely  given.  Then  he  went  down-stairs  with 
Madeleine  and  uttered  a  few  impressive  words  of  warning,  while 
she  poured  out  a  cup  of  coffee  for  him. 

"  Miss  Carlisle  should  avoid  all  excitement,"  he  said,  "  and 
she  should  be  very  careful  with  regard  to  over-exerting  herself. 
I  am  sorry  to  perceive  that  her  attacks  become  more  frequent, 
and  the  paroxysms  more  severe.  Her  heart  is  organically  af- 
fected, and,  when  that  is  the  case,  a  fatal  result  may  ensue  from 
any  imprudence.  It  might  be  well  for  you  to  let  her  know  this, 
'Miss  Severn,  without  alarming  her  more  than  you  can  help.  It 
is  above  all  things  necessary  that  she  should  be  prudent,  and 
prudence  is  not  a  virtue  in  which  young  ladies  excel." 

"  Mary  is  not  foolish  enough  to  be  recklessly  imprudent," 
said  Madeleine.  She  was  unstrung  from  watching  and  anxiety, 
and  she  looked  at  the  doctor  with  quivering  lips  and  tearful 
eyes.  "  Do  you  really  think  the  heart  is  organically  affected  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Does  not  that  mean  danger  of — of  sudden  death 
at  any  time  ?  " 

"  It  means  that  in  a  measure ;  but  in  this  disease  the  chief 
danger  is  of  acute  and  prolonged  suffering  ending  in  death,"  an- 
swered the  doctor.  "  I  am  sorry  to  pain  you — as  I  see  I  do — by 
such  words;  but  you  must  understand  the  case,  and  the  need 
that  there  is  for  prudence  and  care.  »  Miss  Carlisle  may  live  for 
many  years  if  she  avoids  excitement  and  over-exertion.  I  can- 
not impress  this  upon  you  too  strongly,  and  you  must  impress 
it  upon  her  in  any  way  that  seems  to  you  best." 

These  were  not  the  last  words  he  spoke,  but  they  were  the 
w^ords  that  rang  in  Madeleine's  ears  after  he  was  gone,  and  she 


176  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

stood  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  window  watching  the  mist-like 
rain  which  was  falling  rapidly,  and  the  canopy  of  clouds  that 
bent  low  over  the  sere  trees  and  brown  earth.  The  day  was 
ineffably  sad  and  dreary,  or  seemed  so  to  her  as  she  looked  out. 
Who  has  not  felt  the  depression  which  weighs  on  mind  and  body 
after  a  night's  vigil  ?  And  with  this  depression  already  resting 
like  an  incubus  upon  her,  she  had  heard  that  the  life  of  the  gen- 
tle girl  who  filled  a  sister's  place  in  her  heart,  hung  on  a  thread, 
that  a  little  excitement,  a  little  exertion,  would  end  all  things 
whatsoever — as  far  as  things  can  end  on  earth — for  the  richl}'- 
dowered  mistress  of  this  pleasant  home. 

She  felt  that  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  think  of  all  that 
was  implied  in  such  an  idea ;  so,  hearing  Mrs.  Ingram's  step  on 
the  stairs,  she  turned  hastily  and  left  the  room.  That  estimable 
lady  had  retired  to  her  slumbers  the  night  before  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  this  was  her  first  appearance  since  that  time.  She 
was  looking  injured  and  majestic  when  Madeleine  met  her  in  the 
hall,  for  she  had  called  at  Mary's  door  in  passing,  and  Jessie  had 
declined  to  admit  her. 

"  I  hear  that  Dr.  Arthur  has  gone.  Miss  Severn,"  she  said. 
"  I  hoped  that  I  should  have  come  down  in  time  to  see  him  and 
hear  what  he  thinks  of  Mary's  case.  I  am  sure  she  is  not  seri- 
ously ill,  and  I  said  so  last  night  if  you  remember ;  but  still  it 
is  always  well  to  have  the  opinion  of  a  physician." 

"  Dr.  Arthur  thinks  that  she  will  do  very  well  now,  provided 
she  is  quiet  and  careful,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  that  she  is  asleep  at  last,  after  a  night  of  terrible  sufFer- 
mg. 

"  Jessie  Holme  told  me  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Ingram,  with  severe 
emphasis  on  that  offending  person's  name.  *'  She  was  afraid  that 
I  would  disturb  Mary  if  I  went  to  her  room — I,  who  have  always 
been  considered  one  of  the  best  people  in  the  world  for  a  nurse, 
because,  as  everybodj''  always  saj's,  I  am  so  quiet.  I  was  sorry 
I  could  not  sit  up  after  midnight  last  night ;  but  there  seemed 
no  need  of  me,  and  I  feel  that  at  my  time  of  life  I  must  consid- 
er my  own  health." 


"ON  PLEASURE   BENT."  I77 

"  There  was  no  need  of  you  at  all,"  said  Madeleine,  passing 
on.  She  felt  too  weary  and  anxious  to  be  quite  as  courteous  as 
usual,  and  Mrs.  Ingram  apjoreciated  the  change  in  lier  manner. 

"  One  would  really  think  that  Miss  Severn  was  mistress  of 
the  house ! "  she  said,  with  spiteful  emphasis,  to  Albert,  who 
was  bringing  in  warm  buckwheat-cakes  when  she  entered  the 
dining-room. 

Unconscious  of  the  offense  which  she  had  given,  Madeleine 
went  up  the  broad,  thickly-carpeted  stairs  to  Mary's  room.  She 
sent  Jessie  awaj^,  and  sat  down  by  the  bed  on  which  tlie  sick 
girl  lay,  heavily  sleeping,  her  fair  hair  pushed  back  from  the 
white  brow  on  which  every  azure  vein  could  be  clearly  traced. 
Madeleine  gazed  at  the  delicate,  unconscious  face  until  tears 
misted  her  sight.  "  My  poor  Mary  ! "  she  whispered  once  or  twice. 
She  was  just  then  in  that  morbid  state  of  mind — a  verj^  uncom- 
mon state  with  her — when  feeling,  events,  foreshadowings,  are 
magnified  and  distorted  beyond  their  true  proportions.  She 
connected  the  doctor's  warning  with  the  fears  which  had  op- 
pressed her  the  day  before,  and  to  her  fancy  it  seemed  as  if  a 
double  doom  was  impending  over  that  quiet  sleeper — a  doom  of 
love  and  a  doom  of  death.  Which  was  worst?  Madeleine 
said  to  herself  that  she  could  not  tell.  "  To  give  such  a  heart 
as  yours  to  an  idle  vaurieii  who  cares  only  for  your  fortune  !  " 
she  thought.  "  O  my  poor  Mary,  God  may  be  kind  if  He 
takes  you  away  from  that  fate  !  " 

These  were  not  cheerful  thoughts  ;  the  fire  burned  low,  the 
room  was  dark,  and  presently,  through  very  weariness  of  spirit, 
Madeleine  fell  asleep.  She  must  have  slept  an  hour  or  two,  but 
she  waked  at  last  suddenly  with  Jessie's  hand  on  her  shoulder 
and  Jessie's  voice  in  her  ear. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you.  Miss  Madeleine,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  but  Mr.  Lacy  is  down-stairs." 


178  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 


OHxlPTER   V. 


THE    EESTJLT    OF   PLEASUKE. 


As  Madeleine  took  her  way  down  .to  see  Lacy,  she  could  not 
fail  to  be  conscious  of  a  sense  of  constraint  with  regard  to  him. 
There  was  no  coldness,  no  jealousy,  no  injured  self-love  in  this ; 
it  was  not  that  she  resented  any  thing  which  he  had  done,  oi 
left  undone,  but  it  was  simply  the  inevitable  result  of  certain 
given  causes.  Perhaps  the  depression  under  which  she  was 
lal)oring  deepened  the  effect.  At  all  events  she  looked  like  a 
pale  wraith  of  herself  when  she  glided  into  the  library  where 
Lacy  was  standing  before  one  of  the  bookcases,  apparently 
reading  the  titles  of  the  volumes. 

"  Good-morning,  Gordon,"  she  said,  in  her  sweet,  clear  voice ; 
and  he  started  and  turned. 

"  Heavens,  Madeleine  ! — what  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Is  Miss  Carlisle  dying  or  dead,  that  you  look  so  like  a  ghost  ?  " 

"  She  has  been  very  ill  indeed,  and  I  suppose  I  look  badly 
from  having  been  awake  all  night,"  Madeleine  answered,  as  he 
came  forward  and  took  her  hands.  Even  then,  with  his  warm 
clasp  on  her  own  and  his  eyes  reading  her  face,  the  sense  of 
constraint  still  oppressed  her.  It  was  so  subtile  that  she  could 
not  define  in  what  it  consisted,  yet  it  was  decided  enough  to 
keep  her  from  drooping  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  as  she  might 
else  have  done.  She  made  an  effort,  however,  and,  looking  at 
him  with  her  usual  tender  smile,  said  :  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you.  I  hoped  you  would  come  ;  for  I  do  not  know  when  I  shall 
be  able  to  go  back  to  Stansbury." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Lacy.  "  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should 
be  here.  It  puts  3'ou  so  far  away  from  me,  and  I  need  you 
so  much ! " 

"  Do  you  miss  me,  then  ?  "  she  said  ;  and  despite  herself  she 
could  not  help  a  little  wistfulness,  a  shade  of  doubt,  in  her  tone 


THE  RESULT  OF  PLEASURE.  179 


a 


Miss  3^ou  !  "  be  repeated.  "  Wliat  a  question !  As  if  I 
could  do  any  thing  else  than  miss  you !  I  have  come  out  here 
this  morning  because  I  must  have  your  advice ;  are  you  not  my 
counselor  ?  Here  are  some  letters  I  have  received.  Come  to 
the  fire  and  read  them." 

He  drew  her  gently  forward  and  placed  her  in  an  arm-chair. 
It  was  pleasant  to  be  so  cared  for,  and  yet,  for  the  first  time, 
Madeleine  felt  an  intangible  sense  of  want.  What  was  it  ?  She 
did  not  ask  herself,  she  only  felt  that  it  would  have  been  better 
if  he  had  come  because  he  wished  to  see  her,  not  simply  because 
he  desired  her  advice.  But  she  was  that  rare  thing — a  thor- 
oughly unselfish  and  unexacting  person.  This  reflection  cast 
no  shadow  on  her  manner.  She  only  said  :  "  I  fear  I  am  dull 
and  stupid  this  morning.  You  must  excuse  me — Mary  has  been 
so  ill." 

"  You  are  never  dull  and  stupid,"  said  Lacy.  "  The  idea  is 
absurd !  But  I  am  sorry  that  Miss  Carlisle  is  so  ill,  and  still 
more  sorry  that  you  were  obliged  to  sit  up  all  night.  Was  it 
necessary  ?     Has  she  not  attendants  ?  " 

"  Attendants — yes,"  said  Madeleine.  "  But  do  we  leave 
those  whom  we  love  to  attendants  ?  Xow,  what  are  your  let- 
ters about  ?  Of  course  you  know  that  my  best  advice  is  at 
your  service." 

The  letters  were  produced  and  examined.  Two  were  from 
editors,  a  third  from  a  publisher.  One  of  the  first  accepted  and 
complimented  highly  the  poem  which  had  been  so  unfortunately 
criticised.  When  she  read  this  Madeleine  looked  up  with  a  smile 
of  pleasure  so  sincere  that  no  one  could  doubt  or  mistake  it. 

"  You  see  I  wa:s  wrong  !  "  she  said.  ^'  How  glad  I  am!  Now 
you  will  forgive  me  for  my  blunder,  will  you  not  ? — and  I  shall 
never  try  to  play  critic  again." 

The  sweet  frankness  of  her  tone  and  glance  touched  Lac}'' 
with  a  sudden  sense  of  admiration  and  self-reproach.  At  this 
moment  it  was  not  agreeable  to  remember  that  he  had  come  to 
the  Lodge  specially  to  show  her  how  wrong  she  had  been — or 
at  least,  how  differently  others  thought.     The  better  part  of 


180  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

his  nature  was  fast  becoming  spoiled  with  success  and  the  de- 
sire for  praise,  which  is  like  an  unhealthy  appetite,  that  grows 
with  indulgence  ;  but  still  he  felt  dimly  that  Madeleine  was  his 
good  genius,  that  her  fearless  truth,  her  tender  sincerity,  was 
better  for  mind  and  soul  than  the  laudation  which  had  become 
so  necessary  to  him. 

"  I  am  not  sure  at  all  that  this  fellow  is  right,"  he  said, 
touching  the  letter.  "  But,  since  the  matter  was  at  issue  between 
us,  I  thought  I  would  submit  it  to  some  one  else." 

"  And  the  some  one  else  has  decided  against  me,"  said  Mad- 
eleine, who  was  really  delighted — it  was  so  pleasant  for  Lacy  to 
be  gratified,  and  for  herself  to  be  proved  wrong !  "  Dear,  I  con- 
gratulate you  with  all  my  heart." 

"  What  a  heart  it  is ! "  said  Lacy.  "  The  sweetest,  the  bravest, 
the  best  in  all  the  world  !  " 

"  You  don't  know  all  the  hearts  in  the  world,"  said  Mad- 
eleine, laughing.  She  looked  up  with  her  soft  glance.  Con- 
straint and  doubt  fled  in  one  happy  moment.  She  did  what 
many  women  before  her  have  done — shut  her  eyes  to  the  weak- 
ness, and  threw  over  his  faults  the  generous  mantle  of  love. 
What  people  take  to  their  hearts,  they  do  not  criticise.  There 
is  a  certain  degree  of  distance  alwaj's  necessary  for  that  unpleas- 
ant operation,  and  Lacy  had  only  himself  to  blame  when  he 
placed  himself  in  a  position  where  Madeleine's  judgment  was 
forced  to  regard  him,  instead  of  Madeleine's  heart. 

la  this  manner,  that  which  scarcely  deserves  the  name  of  an 
estrangement  was  ended,  and  perfect  harmony  restored.  Lacy's 
wounded  amoz^r^^ro^re  was  soothed,  and  Madeleine  felt  that  she 
was  magnanimously  forgiven.  What  did  that  matter  ?  Peace 
and  trust  were  sweet — and  there  was  a  golden  charm  about  the 
hour  which  followed.  The  autumn  rain  beat  mournfully  on  the 
windows,  but  the  firelight  within  flickered  over  the  apartment, 
Mrs.  Ingram's  large  Maltese  cat  dozed  placidly  on  the  hearth-rug, 
and  Lacy,  thoroughly  comfortable  in  a  luxurious  chair,  talked 
of  himself,  his  hopes,  fears,  doubts,  and  intentions,  to  his  full 
content. 


THE   RESULT   OF  PLEASURE.  I3I 

He  could  readily  have  spent  the  morning,  if  not  the  day,  in 
this  fashion;  but  an  interruption  occurred.  The  door-bell  rang 
sharply,  and  Albert's  voice  was  heard  answering  some  one's 
questions  with  regard  to  Miss  Carlisle,  and  finally  saying  that 
Miss  Severn  was  in  the  library. 

"  Who  is  that,  do  you  suppose  ?  "  asked  Lacy,  irritably. 

Before  Madeleine  could  reply,  the  door  opened  and  Devereux 
entered.  He  looked,  as  usual,  self-possessed  and  graceful,  though 
Miss  Severn's  manner  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  its  coldness  as 
she  rose. 

"Pray  pardon  me,"  he  said,  coming  forward,  "but  I  have 
been  extremely  concerned  to  hear  of  Miss  Carlisle's  illness — and 
especially  concerned  because  I  fear  that  I  am  to  blame  for  it.  I 
called  to  inquire  how  she  is,  without  hoping  to  see  any  one,  but 
the  servant  at  the  door  told  me  that  you  were  here,  and  I  ven- 
tured to  enter,  in  order  to  learn  her  condition,  and  express  my 
most  sincere  regret." 

"  She  is  quiet  now,"  said  Madeleine.  She  spoke  courteously, 
but  he  felt  the  chill  in  her  voice,  as  if  it  had  been  a  draught  of 
cold  air.  "  She  spent  a  terrible  night,  but,  for  the  present,  danger 
is  over,  I  hope." 

"  Danger  I — was  there  danger  ?  "  asked  Devereux.  He  looked 
shocked.  "  How  can  I  forgive  myself?  "  he  went  on,  "  You  do 
not  say  so,  Miss  Severn,  but  I  feel  that  her  having  walked  out 
yesterday  morning — " 

"  Had  nothing  to  do  with  her  illness,"  interrupted  Madeleine. 
"  But  she  was  too  much  excited.  I  knew  that  at  the  time.  She 
lives  so  quietly,  she  is  not  accustomed  to  seeing  visitors  very 
often,  and  Rosalind  and  yourself — " 

"  I  cannot  sufficiently  express  my  concern,"  said  Devereux, 
as  she  paused.  "  If  I  had  suspected  such  a  thing  for  a  moment, 
nothing  would  have  induced  me,  for  my  own  gratification,  to 
incur  any  risk.  May  I  beg  you  to  let  Miss  Carlisle  know  how 
sorry  I  am,  and  how  earnestly  I  hope  that  she  may  soon  be  well 


again 


9» 


"  I  will  let  her  know,"  said  Madeleine,  "  but  I  do  not  think 


1S2  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

she  will  soon  be  well.  She  is  always  very  much  prostrated 
after  one  of  these  severe  attacks,  and  absolute  rest  is  essential 
for  her." 

Devereux  understood  the  hint,  and  was  a  little  amused  bv  the 
decided  manner  in  which  it  was  given.  "  When  she  recovers 
sufficiently  to  receive  visitors,  I  hope  to  express  my  regrets  in 
person,"  he  said.  "But  I  do  not  think  you  need  fear  that  1  will 
repeat  the  same  offense.  I  have  received  a  lesson  which  I  shall 
not  forget." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  was  3^our  visit  alone,"  said  Madeleine,  who 
felt  as  if  she  had  been  a  little  rude.  "  It  was  the  general  excite- 
ment. Will  you  not  sit  dow^n  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  sudden  recol- 
lection. 

"  No,  thanks,"  replied  Devereux,  bowing  again.  "  I  only 
called  to  inquire — forgive  me  for  troubling  you,  and  pray  express 
my  radst  sincere  regret  to  Miss  Carlisle." 

He  passed  out  of  the  room,  and  Madeleine,  with  a  slight  flush 
on  her  cheek,  turned  back  to  Lacy. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  was  not  so  courteous  as — as  I  should  have 
been,"  she  said,  contritely.  "  But  it  was  all  his  fault — his  and 
Rosalind's — that  Mary  has  been  so  ill." 

"  I  met  them  driving  into  town  together  in  Miss  Carlisle's 
carriage,  about  four  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon,"  said  Lacy, 
with  an  air  of  lazy  amusement.  "  I  thought  it  lucky  Champion 
was  not  about.  Rosalind  looked  lovely,  and  as  full  of  mischief 
as  possible.  She  certainly  is  seduisante  to  an  uncommon  degree. 
But  what  is  to  be  the  end  of  it  all  ?  " 

"  Heaven  only  knows  !  "  said  Madeleine.  "  Rosalind  heeds  no 
remonstrance.    As  for  Mr.  Devereux,  I  distrust  him  altogether." 

"  You  and  Champion  can  shake  hands,  then — but  Basil  seems 
to  have  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons." 

"  Basil  thinks  he  means  well  in  a  business  point  of  vievv  ; 
and  perhaps  he  may — I  cannot  tell.  But  with  regard  to  Mary, 
I  think  that  he  does  7iot  mean  well.  He  intends,  if  he  can,  to 
marry  her  for  her  fortune,  and  meanwhile  he  is  flirting  with 
Rosalind  in  a  way  that  no  honorable  man  would  think  of  doing.'* 


THE  RESULT   OF  PLEASURE.  183 

*'  According  to  jour  code,  few  men  are  honorable,"  said 
Lacy,  with  a  slightly  uneasy  laugh,  which  may  or  may  not  have 
had  its  origin  in  one  or  two  pricks  of  conscience. 

"  You  do  not  think  my  ideas  strained,  do  you  ?  "  said  Made- 
leine, looking  at  him  with  earnest  eyes.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
if  I  was  in  Mr.  Devereux's  place,  I  should  feel  that  truth  was 
all  the  more  owing  to  poor  Mary  because  she  might  be  so  easily 
deceived." 

"  Men  of  the  vrorld — "  began  Lacy,  but  she  interrupted  him 
with  an  imjDetuosity  which  was  very  novel  with  her  : 

"  Even  '  men  of  the  world '  profess  to  believe  in  honor,  do 
they  not  ?  "  she  asked.  "  And  I  am  sure  you  could  not  call  it 
honorable  to  try  to  win  a  woman's  hand  solely  as  a  matter  of 
convenience,  and  then  to  fail  in  giving  her  even  the  poor  com- 
pliment of  faith,  in  return  for  such  great  gifts  as  her  heart  and 
-her  fortune ! " 

Lacy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  The  rule  is  the  other  way," 
ne  said.  "  But  have  you  any  right  to  talk  of  men  ?  Do  wom- 
en act  much  better  ?     There  is  Rosalind !  " 

''  Ah  ! "  said  Madeleine,  as  if  the  mention  of  Rosalind  in 
such  a  connection  was  equivalent  to  a  phj^sical  pang.  Her  pride 
was  hurt  as  well  as  her  heart.  One  of  the  Severns  ! — one  of 
those  whose  n.ame  has  been  for  generations  a  synonym  for 
honor,  cf  whom  "  all  the  men  were  brave  and  all  the  women 
virtuous  ! " — that  one  of  these  should  be  at  last  that  weak  and 
volatile  thing,  a  woman  whose  faith  was  like  a  feather !  There 
is  no  denying  that  this  stung  Madeleine  to  the  quick.  "  I  can- 
not talk  of  it !  "  she  said.  "  Such  conduct  is  unworthy  of  any 
woman — it  is  doubly  unworthy  of  Rosalind !  I  do  not  know 
where  it  will  end.  I  am  sorry  for  jMr.  Champion.  O  Gordon, 
is  not  life  a  puzzle  !  " 

"  Sometimes  it  seems  particularly  so,"  said  Gordon.  He 
spoke  feelingly.  There  was  no  disguising  the  fact  that  sometimes 
the  puzzle  was  almost  too  much  for  him.  It  had  weighed  upon 
him  heavily  since  he  saw  Madeleine  last,  and,  if  the  unquiet 
spirit  was  laid  a  little  now  by  the  magic  of  her  presence,  he 


184  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

knew  that  it  would  return  to  torment  him  when  his  dark  hour 
came — the  dark  hour  of  temptation  as  well  as  depression. 

Presently  the  door-bell  rang  again,  and  this  time  it  w^as  Dr. 
Arthur  who  made  his  appearance.  Then  Madeleine's  attention 
was  claimed,  and  Lacy  felt  that  he  must  go.  She  went  out  with 
him  to  the  piazza,  and  stood  there  in  her  pretty  morning-dress, 
the  damp  air  waving  her  brown  hair,  and  bringing  a  faint  color 
to  her  pale  cheeks,  while  he  mounted  his  horse.  Having  ^one 
so,  he  turned  again  to  say  good-by.  "  Come  back  to  Stans- 
bury  as  soon  as  possible,  anhna  mia^''  he  said,  caressingly. 
"  There  is  no  telling  what  will  become  of  me  if  jou  do  not.  I 
cannot  live  without  my  counselor." 

"  But  you  can  come  to  see  her,  can  you  not  ?  "  the  counsel- 
or asked. 

"And  be  interrupted  by  Messieurs  Devereux  and  Arthur! 
That  is  not  very  satisfactory.  Promise  me  that  you  will  come 
as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  Madeleine. 

But  she  was  not  destined  to  fulfill  this  promise  very  speedily 
Mary's  illness  lasted  as  she  had  feared  that  it  would.  There 
were  more  paroxysms  of  heart-disease,  followed  by  utter  pros- 
tration ;  and  so,  for  two  weeks,  Madeleine  scarcely  left  the  sick- 
room where  Jessie  alone  shared  her  labor  of  watching.  The 
doctor  knew  that  he  could  depend  implicitly  on  these  two,  and 
all  other  nurses  were  excluded.  Of  how  the  world  went  on 
during  this  time  Miss  Severn  scarcely  knew.  Basil  came  daily 
to  inquire  about  Mary,  but  sometimes  Madeleine  did  not  see 
him,  and  when  she  did  he  was  not  communicative  with  regard 
to  outside  affairs.  Indeed,  there  was  not  time  for  any  extended 
communications,  if  either  of  them  had  felt  inclined  that  way 
Those  who  have  watched  in  a  sick-room  know  how  engrossing 
that  occupation  is — how  absorbing  to  the  mind,  how  wear^'ing 
to  the  body  !  Lacy  came  once  or  twice,  but  found  these  visits 
so  "  unsatisfactory,"  that  he  discontinued  them.  Perhaps  it 
was  natural  that  it  should  not  have  occurred  to  him  that  they 
might  be  a  pleasure  to  Madeleine.     Other  visitor?  called,  were 


MADELEINE   RETURNS   TO   STANSBURY.  185 

received  by  Mrs.  Ingram,  and  departed  leaving  S3rnipatlietic 
cards  and  condolences.  Rosalind  flitted  in  and  said  sbe  would 
be  "  glad  to  do  any  thing  sbe  could."  Being  assured  tbat  her 
services  were  not  needed,  she  gladly  departed.  So  matters 
went  on.  By  the  end  of  the  second  week  Mary  began  to  mend, 
but  the  third  week  was  well  advanced  before  the  doctor  said 
that  she  might  be  taken  to  the  library  and  see  a  few  quiet 
friends. 


CHAPTER    yi. 

MADELEIXE   EETURXS   TO    STAXSBURY. 

FoREiiosT  among  these  quiet  friends  was  Basil  Severn.  The 
first  day  that  Mary  was  established  on  her  familiar  couch  by  the 
library-fire — fire  needed  now,  since  it  was  a  clear,  frosty  No- 
vember morning — he  entered,  with  warmest  pleasure  and  con- 
gratulation on  his  frank,  sunburned  face.  This  face  poor  Mary 
could  not  see,  but  she  could  hear  the  genial  ring  of  his  voice, 
and  feel  the  cordial  clasp  of  his  hand. 

"  What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  see  j^ou  down  again ! "  he  said, 
holding  her  fragile  hands — thin  and  shadowy  as  a  fairy's — tight- 
ly within  his  own.  "  I  began  to  think  you  meant  to  retire  per- 
manently into  winter  quarters  up-stairs,  or  that  Dr.  Arthur  meant 
to  keep  you  there  !  By  Jove  !  it  is  odd  to  think  that  when  I 
saw  you  last  I  told  you  how  particularly  well  you  were  looking, 
and  now — " 

"  And  now  you  can  tell  me  exactly  the  reverse,  I  suppose," 
she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  How  fortunate  it  is  that  I  can't  see 
how  badly  I  look  !  Dear  Basil,  I  am  so  glad  to  be  down — and 
what  a  weary  time  Madeleine  has  had  with  me  !  " 

"  Do  you  hear  her  ?  "  said  Madeleine.  "  She  does  not  talk 
of  her  own  great  pain — such  pain,  Basil ! — but  of  how  tired  I 
must  be  who  have  sufi"ered  nothing." 

"  The  pain  is  gone,"  said  Mary,  simply.     "  Why  should  I 


186  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

talk  of  it  ?  But  I  am  sure  that  Madeleine  feels  and  shows  the 
effects  of  her  confinement.  Basil,  does  she  not?  I  cannot  let 
you  have  her  in  Stansburj  yet,  but  she  must  certainly  go  to 
drive  to-day.  I  have  told  her  that.  I  ho23e  Gordon  Lacy  will 
come  to  go  with  her." 

"  Have  you  seen  Lacy  lately  ?  "  said  Basil,  looking  at  his  sis- 
ter— and  something  in  his  tone,  or  in  the  expression  of  his  face, 
seemed  to  Madeleine  full  of  restrained  significance. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  nearly  ten  days  since  I  saw  him 
last,"  she  said.     "  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Severn,  carelessly,  "  except  that  I 
wondered  if  he  had  found  time  to  come ;  he  seems  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  those  theatricals  which  they  are  organizing  in  Stans- 
bury." 

"  So  that  is  still  going  on  ?  "  said  Madeleine  ;  then  she 
laughed.  "  When  one  has  been  withdrawn  a  little  from  the 
world,  one  is  apt  to  forget  that  it  has  not  stood  still,"  she  said. 
"  Instead  of  asking  if  the  theatricals  are  still  going  on,  I  should 
have  asked,  how  are  they  going  on  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  such  matters  usually  do,  I  believe,  with  not  more 
than  a  quarrel  a  day,  on  an  average,  among  the  performers — 
which,  of  course,  does  not  include  any  that  may  spring  out  of 
the  half-dozen  deadly  feuds  flourishing  in  the  town." 

"  Are  you  one  of  the  performers  ?  "  asked  Mary, 

"  I  fill  the  honorable  and  onerous  position  of  stage-manager," 
said  he,"  "  and  heartily  tired  of  the  whole  affair  I  am.  If  it  had 
been  possible  to  retreat,  with  due  regard  to  others,  I  should  have 
resigned  my  office  long  ago." 

"  Tell  us  all  about  it,"  said  Mary.  "  We  have  heard  nothing 
- — Madeleine  and  I.     Does  Rosalind  play  leading  lady?" 

"In  the  comedy,  yes — to  Devereux's  leading  gentleman," 
answered  Basil,  looking  again  at  Madeleine — a  look  in  which  the 
significance  was  not  at  all  restrained  now.  *'  Champion  has 
been  induced  to  take  a  part  in  the  same  play,  very  much 
against  his  will.  I  fancy  he  will  throw  it  up  in  disgust  before 
long.     ]\Iiss  Champion  and  Lacy  monopolize  the  after-piece." 


MADELEINE  RETURNS  TO   STANSBURY.  187 

"  And  what  is  the  end  of  it  all  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  Amusement 
pure  and  simple  ?  " 

"  Amusement,  certainly,"  replied  Severn,  "  with  a  decent  pre- 
text of  '  charitable  purpose.'  If  you  ask  what  the  charitable  pur- 
pose is,  however,  upon  my  word  I  am  unable  to  tell  you." 

"I  wonder  if  the  rest  are  as  well  amused  as  vou  are?"  said 
Mary,  with  a  lauo-h,  while  Madeleine  looked  at  her  brother  with 
wistful  eyes.  She  understood  him  thoroughly,  and,  under  every 
careless  word  he  uttered,  heard  the  sharp  cadence  of  suffering. 
Instinctively  she  felt  all  that  had  been  going  on — at  least  as  far  as 
he  was  concerned.  She  felt  how  the  fancy  for  Helen  Champion, 
against  which  he  had  struggled  for  years,  had  been  fanned  by 
the  coquetry  of  its  object,  and  the  association  of  these  past  weeks, 
into  a  torturing  love.  "  For  her  own  triumph !  "  Madeleine 
thought.  "  Oh,  the  sinfulness,  the  heartlessness,  the  cruelty  of 
such  conduct !  "  Her  soul  was  sick  with  indignation.  It  was  not 
only  that  she  loved  her  brother  as  few  brothers  are  loved,  but 
she  pitied  him  with  that  tender  compassion  which  is  akin  to  pain. 
His  life  had  been  so  hard,  and  he  had  borne  it  so  bravely  !  This 
was  what  she  often  said  to  herself.  And  that  a  frivolous  woman, 
simply  for  her  own  amusement,  should  add  the  bitterness  of 
squandered  love  to  the  failed  ambition  and  weary  toil  of  this  life, 
seemed  almost  too  much  to  bear.  Yet  such  things  must  be  borne. 
It  falls  to  the  lot  of  many  women  to  look  on  powerless,  and  see 
their  dearest  and  best  fling  their  hearts  down  into  the  dust  at 
the  feet  of  some  unworthy  Circe. 

After  Basil  was  gone — and  he  did  not  stay  very  long — Made- 
leine felt  a  spirit  of  restlessness  take  possession  of  her.  Despite 
the  efforts  to  do  so,  she  could  not  forget  how  he  had  looked  when 
Lacy's  name  was  mentioned,  and  again  when  he  had  spoken  of 
Rosalind  and  Devereux.  She  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  desire 
to  see  with  her  own  eyes,  and  hear  with  her  own  ears,  all  that 
there  was  to  see  and  hear.  After  struggling  for  a  time  with  the 
feeling,  she  suddenly  rose. 

"  If  you  have  no  objection,  Mary,"  she  said,  "  I  will  leave 
you  for  a  little  while.     I  think  I  should  like  to  go  to  Stansbury. 


188  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

It  was  three  weeks  yesterday  since  I  left  home,  and  there  are 
several  things  needing  my  attention." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mar3\  "I  am  not  selfish  enough  to  want 
to  keep  3'ou  pinned  to  my  side  now.  But  you  will  be  sure  and 
come  back,  will  you  not  ?  I  cannot  give  you  up,  and,  pray,  ring 
and  order  the  carriage.     You  must  not  think  of  walking." 

Madeleine  made  no  demur  about  this.  Generally  she  liked 
walking,  but  now  she  felt  languid  from  confinement,  and  impa- 
tient besides.  This  impatience  struck  her  as  something  strange. 
For  three  weeks  she  had  no  more  troubled  herself  about  affairs 
in  Stansbury  than  if  they  had  been  affairs  in  Paris ;  yet  now, 
all  in  a  minute  as  it  were,  she  felt  charged  with  restlessness  as 
with  electricity.  Was  it  because  of  the  suffering  she  had  seen 
on  Basil's  face,  or  the  significance  in  his  tones  ?  Whatever  it 
was,  she  was  trembling  with  nervous  excitement  when  she  went 
up-stairs  and  changed  her  dress  for  driving. 

The  close  carriage  which  she  had  ordered,  in  preference  to 
the  pony-phaeton,  was  at  the  door  when  she  came  down.  Gil- 
bert, the  coachman,  would  probably  have  kejDt  Mrs.  Ingram  wait- 
ing half  an  hour,  but  all  the  household  liked  to  serve  Madeleine, 
and  he  had  brought  out  his  horses  with  unusual  celerity  when 
he  heard  that  they  were  wanted  for  her. 

The  day  was  bright  and  sparkling,  though  cold — as  cold 
is  reckoned  in  the  South.  There  had  been  a  white  frost  early 
in  the  morning  under  which  the  roses  had  drooped  their  heads, 
to  raise  them  no  more  till  spring.  Indian  summer  was  yet  to 
come  with  all  its  mellow,  hazy  beauty,  but  for  the  present  the 

earth  felt 

"...  Winter's  scourge,  with  Summer's  kiss 
Still  warm  upon  her  lips." 

The  drive  to  Stansbury  was  short,  and  when  Madeleine  en- 
tered the  town  she  was  struck  by  the  change  which  the  past 
three  weeks  had  made  in  the  appearance  of  every  thing.  Au- 
tumn splendors  were  gone,  brown  leaves  covered  the  earth,  bare 
trees  lifted  their  skeleton  branches  against  the  pale-blue  sky — 
bow  different  from   the  glowing   world  of  color   she  had  left 


MADELEINE   RETURNS  TO   STANSBURY.  189 

when  she  drove  to  the  Lodge  with  Mary  Carhsle  on  that  Octo- 
ber afternoon !     Her  road  led  past  the  Champion  residence,  one 
of  the  stateliest  in  the  town,  an  imposing,  white-pillared  house, 
crowning  a  hill,  its  beautiful  lawn  dotted  with  evergreens,  slop- 
ing down  to  the  street  in  front.     This  was  Rosalind's  future 
home.     Madeleine  could  not  restrain  a  slight  sensation  of  won- 
der as  she  looked  at  it.     She  knew  Rosalind  so  well — her  in- 
tense love  of  ease  and  luxury,  her  passionate  desire  for  wealth 
— yet,  now  these  things  were  within  her  reach,  she  was  playing 
fast  and  loose  with  the  man  who  represented  them  !     What  did 
it  mean  ?  Miss  Severn  asked  herself,  conscious  of  her  knowledge 
of  character  being  at  fault  somewhere.     Rosalind  could  not  think 
that  Devereux — who  had  frankly  avowed  himself  a  poor  man — 
would  marry  a  penniless  woman,  neither  w^as  it  at  all  likely 
that  so  thorough  an  epicurean  as  that  young  lady  would,  under 
these  circumstances,  desire  to  marry  him.     Was  it  all  a  mere  pur- 
suit of  the  pleasure  of  the  minute  ?    Or  was  a  grande  passion — 
that  mad  fever  of  heart  and  brain  which  is  thoroughly  reckless 
of  consequences  so  long  as  it  lasts — involved  with  either  or  both  ? 
Mrs.  Severn  was  the  only  person  at  home  when  Madeleine 
entered  the  familiar  sitting-room.      She  was   darning  a  table- 
cloth with  great  care,  from  which  she  looked  up  as  her  step- 
daughter api^eared. 

"  Why,  Madeleine,  is  this  you  ?  "  she  said,  with  placid  sur- 
prise. "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  back  again — and  how  is 
Mary  ?  I  told  Rosalind  only  this  morning  that  I  thought  I 
would  go  to  see  her." 

"  Mary  wiJl  be  very  glad  to  see  you  now  that  she  is  better  and 
able  to  receive  visitors,"  said  Madeleine.  She  bent  and  kissed 
the  faded  lips  as  she  spoke,  and  then  sat  down — looking  round 
a  little  vaguely.  For  what  had  she  come  ?  She  could  scarcely 
tell,  except  that  it  was  not  to  sit  here  and  watch  Mrs.  Severn  go 
back  to  her  work — her  slender,  blue-veined  hands,  vrhich  seemed 
made  for  other  uses,  moving  methodically  to  and  fro  across  the 
shining  damask.     Darning  is  absorbing  work,  but  nevertheless 

she  was  able  to  glance  at  the  face  opposite  and  say : 

9 


190  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"You  are  looking  badly  yourself,  Madeleine.  I  am  afraid 
)'0u  have  been  confined  too  closely  with  Mary ;  indeed,  Basil  has 
been  quite  uneasy  about  you." 

"  I  am  very  well;"  answered  Madeleine,  "  but  of  course  the 
confinement  has  told  on  me.  I  have  not  much  appetite.  I  hope 
you  have  been  well — and  Rosalind.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  She  has  gone  to  a  rehearsal,"  replied  Mi'S.  Severn.  "  I 
suppose  you  have  heard  of  the  theatricals  Helen  Champion  and 
herself  are  engaged  in  getting  up.  I  can't  say  that  I  exactly 
approve  of  such  amusements ;  but  young  people  must  have  some 
diversion — and  this  is  a  dull  place." 

"I  suppose  they  are  diverting,"  said  Madeleine,  who  was 
not  interested  in  the  theatricals  further  than  what  might  grow 
out  of  them. 

"  They  seem  so,"  answ^ered  Mrs.  Severn,  threading  her  needle. 
"  RosaKnd  has  been  at  home  very  little  lately  ;  and  the  company 
have  been  here  several  times  in  the  evening.  I  shall  be  glad, 
however,  when  the  entertainment  is  over,"  she  added,  in  a  tone 
which  to  Madeleine's  ear  was  full  of  meaning. 

''  Probably  Rosalind  will  not  be  sorry,"  she  said.  "  Such  affairs 
generally  end  in  proving  more  tiresome  than  entertaining." 

"  I  am  afraid  Rosalind  is  very  well  entertained,"  said  Rosa- 
lind's mother,  dropping  her  work  in  her  lap  and  looking  up  with 
her  still  pretty  and  pathetic  eyes  full  of  anxiety.  At  this  jooint 
&he  hesitated.  She  did  not  wish  to  say  any  thing  severe  of  her 
darling ;  and  yet  she,  like  every  one  else  connected  with  Made- 
leine, always  went  to  her  in  matters  of  doubt  and  times  of 
trouble. 

"I  think  I  can  easily  conjecture  what  is  going  on,"  said 
Miss  Severn.  "  Rosalind  is  flirting  with  Mr.  Devereux,  is  she 
not  ?  I  expected  nothing  else.  And  what  does  Mr.  Champion 
think  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  is  very  jealous,"  said  Mrs.  Severn.  "  Any  one  can  see 
that ;  and,  O  Madeleine,  I  am  greatly  afraid  the  engagement  will 
be  broken  off.  It  is  not,"  the  lady  went  on,  raising  her  delicate 
head  with  an  air  of  pride,  "  that  I  do  not  think  that  Rosalind  is 


MADELEINE   RETURNS   TO  STAXSBURY.  191 

in  a  manner  throwing  herself  away  upon  James  Champion ;  but 
then  he  is  the  best  match  she  can  command  here^  and — " 

"  And  she  engaged  herself  to  him,  I  believe,"  said  Made- 
leine in  a  tone  which  was  a  trifle  hard — if  such  an  expression 
could  possibly  be  applied  to  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  she  engaged  herself  to  him,"  said  Mrs.  Severn.  "  And 
it  is  not  in  good  taste  to  break  engagements — so  I  have  told  her  j 
but  she  only  laughs.     If  you  would  speak  to  her — " 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  have  no  influence  over 
Rosalind.  I  should  have  discovered  that  three  weeks  ago,  when 
I  tried  to  remonstrate  with  her  about  this  very  matter,  if  I  had 
not  known  it  before." 

"  I  do  not  see  what  she  means,"  said  Mrs.  Severn  with  a 
sigh.  "  Mr.  Devereux  has  squandered  all  his  fortune,  Basil  says, 
unless  he  wins  this  suit,  when  in  that  case — Whj'-,  what  is  the 
matter,  Madeleine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Madeleine ;  but  she  had  started  and 
grown  suddenly  paler  than  she  had  been  before.  Mrs.  Severn's 
words  gave,  like  a  flash,  the  key  to  the  enigma  which  had  puz- 
zled her.  That  was  what  Rosalind  meant !  If  Devereux  won 
the  suit — if  Mary  Carlisle  was  dispossessed  of  her  fortune — she 
would  marry  him.  If  not,  all  this  would  pass  as  the  amusement 
of  an  idle  hour,  she  would  probably  bestow  the  inestimable 
treasure  of  her  hand  on  James  Champion,  while  Devereux — but 
this  was  more  than  Madeleine  could  bear  to  consider.  "My 
poor  Mary !  my  poor  Mary ! "  she  said  to  herself,  while  a  flood 
of  passionate  resentment  rushed  over  her.  Involuntarily  she 
rose.  "I  will  be  back  presently,"  she  said,  and  quitted  the 
room. 

Left  alone,  Mrs.  Severn  shook  her  head.  Madeleine's  afikirs 
did  not  by  any  means  possess  to  her  the  interest  which  belonged 
to  Rosalind's  ;  but  she  was  nevertheless  sufficiently  attached  to 
her  step-daughter  to  feel  sorry  for  a  blow  which  she  knew  to  be 
impending  over  her.  More  than  once  lately  Rosalind  had  spoken 
of  Gordon  Lacy's  "  flirtation  "  with  Helen  Champion  ;  more  than 
once  she  had  said  that  she  thoujrht  it  would  end  in  somethinor 


192  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

more  than  mere  flirtation.  That  very  morning  at  breakfast,  after 
Basil's  departure,  she  had  calmly  delivered  her  opinion  on  this 
subject. 

"  Helen  is  crazy  to  marry  Gordon  since  she  thinks  he  is  like- 
ly to  become  distinguished,"  Rosalind  said.  '*  She  cared  noth- 
ing about  him  before  she  went  away  and  heard  people  talking 
of  his  writings.  Now  she  professes  to  *  adore  intellect,'  and  all 
such  stuff,  and  is  perpetually  paying  him  compliments,  which  he 
receives  condescendingly  and  returns  in  kind.  I  used  to  be  very 
fond  of  Gordon,  but  really  he  is  growing  so  spoiled  that  he  is 
not  like  himself,  and,  as  a  matter  of  self-respect,  Madeleine  will 
be  forced  to  discard  him  before  long,  I  think." 

"  Do  you  think  he  can  possibly  wish  to  marry  Helen  ?  "  Mrs. 
Severn  had  inquired. 

"  I  think  he  does,"  Rosalind  returned,  coolly.  *'  He  may  be 
in  love  with  Madeleine — I  don't  pretend  to  know  about  that — 
but  Helen  is  handsome  and  rich,  and  shows  her  preference  for 
him  openly." 

"  I  call  it  very  singular  conduct  on  her  part  when  she  knows 
he  is  engaged  to  another  woman,"  remarked  Mrs.  Severn,  with 
faint  indignation. 

Her  daughter  laughed.     "  Helen  cares  nothing  for  that.     She 

believes  in 

'  The  good  old  rule,  the  simple  plan, 
That  he  shall  take  who  has  the  power, 
And  he  shall  keep  who  can,'  " 

she  replied,  carelessly — though  how  much  she  indorsed  such  a 
rule  herself,  she  did  not  add. 

Mrs.  Severn  remembered  this  conversation,  and  so  it  chanced 
that  she  shook  her  head  over  the  table-cloth.  But  she  had  ex- 
liausted  her  powers  of  keen  emotion  earlier  in  life,  and  now  was 
in  the  habit  of  taking  things,  pleasant  or  otherwise,  with  a  mild 
philosophy — which  she  did  not  in  the  least  suspect  to  be  philos- 
ophy. She  went  back  to  her  darning  in  this  spirit.  Matters 
would  probabl}''  right  themselves  after  a  time.     Meanwhile,  it 


MADELEINE   RETURNS  TO   STANSBURY.  193 

would  not  do  to  "  slight "  this  beautiful  damask  which  had  worn 
so  admirably  for  twenty  years. 

When  Madeleine  came  back  to  the  sitting-room  she  still  had 
her  hat  on,  and  she  bade  her  step-mother  good-morning,  much  to 
that  lady's  surprise.  "  I  promised  Mary  not  to  be  gone  long," 
she  said,  "  and  I  have  some  shopping  to  do  down-street.  By- 
the-way,  can  you  tell  me  where  the  rehearsal  is  going  on  ?  I 
should  like  to  see  Rosalind  for  a  few  minutes — " 

"  The  rehearsal  is  at  the  theatre,"  answered  Mrs.  Severn. 
"  If  you  could  only  say  something  to  Rosalind  to  make  her 
more  careful,  Madeleine — " 

"  I  fear  that  is  impossible,"  said  Madeleine,  gently  but 
coldly. 

This  coldness  remained  with  her  as  she  drove  away.  She 
felt  that  she  could  never  again  voluntarily  speak  to  Rosalind  on 
the  subject.  She  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  scorn  which  was 
new  to  her,  and  which  may  seem  overstrained  to  those  who  do 
not  consider  first  her  peculiar  organization,  and  secondly  the  sa- 
credness  which  to  her,  as  to  Basil,  seemed  to  encircle  Mary  Car- 
lisle. 

When  Gilbert  drew  up  before  the  building,  which  was  a 
very  passable  little  theatre  for  a  country-place,  and  was  always 
grandiloquently  spoken  of  in  bills  and  posters  as  the  Stansbury 
"  Opera-House,"  a  group  of  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  were 
descending  the  steps  which  led  to  that  temple  of  art.  This  was 
the  coiys  dramatique.  But  among  them  Rosalind  was  not, 
neither  was  Helen  Champion,  neither  Lacy  nor  Devereux. 
Madeleine  stopped  a  member  of  the  group  to  ask  for  the  miss- 
ing performers — at  least  for  the  only  one  in  whom  she  chose  to 
express  an  interest. 

"  Rosalind  is  still  in  the  hall,"  answered  the  young  lady  ad- 
dressed. "  I  saw  her  as  T  came  out.  Are  you  going  up  ?  This 
is  the  stage-entrance." 

"  I  am  going  up  for  a  few  minutes,"  said  Madeleine.  "  The 
other  entrance  is  closed." 

She  passed  on  as  she  spoke.     The  theatre  was  on  the  sec- 


194  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

ond  floor,  and  the  stairs  leading  to  tbe  rear  of  it  were  steep  and 
dark.  Having  clinabed  to  the  top  of  them,  she  came  to  a  door 
and  pushed  it  open,  finding  herself  in  that  bewildering  region 
which  lies  at  the  back  of  the  stage.  She  walked  a  few  steps, 
and  while  she  then  paused,  irresolute  which  w^ay  to  turn,  Helen 
Champion's  artificial  laugh  suddenly  fell  on  her  ear. 

"  That  w411  do  for  Sir  Edward  Ardent,"  the  voice  which 
matched  this  laugh  said,  coquettishly ;  "  but  you  have  no  right 
to  say  such  things  to  me  as  Mr.  Lacyy 

"  Why  have  I  not  ?  "  Lacy's  well-known  tones  replied — in- 
dolent tones,  with  a  strain  of  banter  in  them,  yet  a  subtile  ac- 
cent of  admiring  tenderness,  too.  "  Are  they  not  true  ?  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  they  are.  Let  me  be  Sir  Edward 
Ardent,  then,  and  say  how  well  that  yellow  rose  looks  in  your 
hair,  helle  Odalisque  !  " 

"  It  came  from  the  hot-house ;  there  are  no  roses  in  the  gar- 
den this  morning.  Should  j^ou  like  to  have  it  ?  You  said  the 
other  day  that  you  only  cared  for  things  w^hich  were  rare." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  it  if  you  can  honestly  aver  that  you 
gathered  it  and  wore  it  for  me  !  " 

"  Of  all  conceited  men,  you  are  certainly  the  most  conceited 
and  spoiled  !  "  said  Miss  Champion,  with  another  laugh  of  grati- 
fied vanity.     "  And  suppose  I  did  say  so — what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  would  beg  you  to  put  it  in  my  button-hole,  while  I 
quoted  Waller's  verses  for  you." 

"  I  never  heard  them — are  they  very  pretty  ?  " 

"  Very  indeed." 

"  As  pretty  as  yours  ?  " 

"  I  never  wrote  any  thing  half  so  good  in  my  life." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  think  so ;  mamma  says  I  am  quite 
absurd  with  regard  to  your  poems,  I  like  them  so  much." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  about  the  rose — " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  I  must  confess  that,  when  I  saw  this  bud,  I 
thought  of  what  you  said  the  other  day  about  j^ellow  roses,  and 
BO — here  it  is  !     Now  for  the  verses." 

"  You  must  pin  it  in  my  button-hole,"  said  Lacy,  placidly. 


MADELEINE   RETURNS   TO   STANSBURY.  195 

It  need  not  be  suj^posed  that  Madeleine  overheard  this  art- 
less conversation  voluntarily.  For  a  moment  she  had  paused — 
doubtful  whether  to  go  on  or  to  go  back — her  heart  throbbing, 
her  cheeks  flushing.  Then  instinct  said,  "  Go  on  !  "  and  she 
went  forward.  But  to  reach  the  point  whence  the  voices  pro- 
ceeded was  not  so  easy  as  it  seemed.  There  was  little  light, 
and  apparently  endless  confusion.  Madeleine  had  never  been 
behind  the  scenes  in  even  the  smallest  theatre  before,  so  it  oc- 
curred most  accidentally  that  she  made  her  appearance  on  the 
stage  just  when  Miss  Champion  was  pinning  the  yellow  rose 
under  discussion  in  Lacy's  button-bole,  while  that  gentleman 
repeated  those  charming  verses  of  Waller's  wdiich  begin,  "  Go, 
lovely  rose ! " 

The  lady's  face  was  turned  toward  the  wing  at  which  Made- 
leine made  her  entrance,  and  it  was  she  w^ho  started  so  violent- 
ly, flushed  so  deeply,  and  dropped  the  rose,  that  Lacy  turned. 
His  surprise  and  confusion  were  scarcely  less  great  when  he  saw 
Miss  Severn  advancing.  He  was  generally  the  farthest  possible 
remove  from  an  awkward  man,  but  at  this  moment  he  was 
thrown  off  his  guard,  and  he  looked  as  he  felt — startled  and 
guilty.  Altogether  it  was  an  odd  little  scene — a  bit  of  iinpromp- 
tu  drama — and  Rosalind  and  Devereux,  who  were  conducting 
their  flirtation  in  the  auditorium,  paused,  surprised  and  amused, 
to  look  on. 

It  was  Madeleine  w^ho  ended  the  awkwardness  and  put  them 
at  their  ease.  Her  pulses  were  beating  with  a  vibrating  rush, 
but  pride  steadied  her  nerves  and  gave  all  its  usual  composure 
to  her  manner.  Such  tests  as  this  show  mettle  and  breeding. 
She  came  forward  with  a  smile,  and  when  she  spoke  her  voice 
had  lost  none  of  its  sweet  frankness. 

"  Good-morning,  Helen — good-morning,  Gordon,"  she  said. 
"  Pray,  pardon  me  for  startling  you  by  such  an  unexpected  ap- 
pearance, but  I  ventured  to  come  up  unpiloted,  and  it  seems  that 
it  is  a  very  difficult  undertaking  to  find  one's  way  on  the  stage. 
What  a  lovely  rose  ! "  she  added,  as  she  stooped,  lifted  and 
handed  the  beautiful  cloth-of-gold  bud  to  its  owner. 


196  A  QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

''  Yes,  it  is  very  pretty,"  said  Miss  Cliampion,  ^vho  had  the 
grace  not  only  to  look  bat  to  feel  ashamed.  ^'  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  in  Stansbury  once  more,  Madeleine,"  she  went  on,  with  an 
effort  to  sjDeak  cordially.     "  How  is  Mary  Carlisle  ?  " 

"  Better,  I  am  glad  to  say,"  replied  Madeleine.  Then  she 
looked  at  Lacy,  and  spoke  with  the  faintest  possible  trace  of 
malice  in  her  tone.  "  Are  you  rehearsing  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  bef^ 
that  you  will  not  let  me  interrupt  you.  I  came  in  search  of 
Rosalind.     Is  she  not  here  ?  " 

"  She  was  here  a  moment  ago,"  said  Lacy,  looking  round. 
"There  she  is,  in  the  auditorium  !  Will  you  let  me  take  3'ou 
down  to  her?" 

"That  is  not  worth  while,"  Madeleine  replied,  "if  you  will 
tell  me  how  to  get  down.     Do  I  go  this  way  ?  " 

'  No — in  this  direction."  He  moved  in  the  direction  indicated, 
and  she  followed  him  throuo-h  the  side-scenes,  down  a  flight  of 
steps,  to  a  door,  which  he  opened.  Then  she  said :  "  Thank  you ; 
do  not  let  me  trouble  you  any  further" — and  passed  him  with 
an  air  of  quiet  decision. 

He  looked  after  her  a  moment  as  she  walked  away — admiring, 
perhaps,  the  gentle  stateliness  of  her  carriage,  the  graceful  poise 
of  her  head,  the  whole  air  of  distinction  which  stamped  so  un- 
mistakably her  manner  and  bearing.  Then  he  turned,  and  went 
back  to  Miss  Champion,  who  was  rather  sedately  fastening  her 
boa  round  her  throat. 

"  Pray,  do  not  think  of  attending  me  home,"  she  said,  with 
an  air  of  elaborate  indifference.  "  Of  course,  I  do  not  expect 
such  a  thing  with  3fadeleine  here.     Good-morning." 

"  Allow  me  to  relieve  you  of  that  book  you  are  carrying," 
said  Lacy,  coolly,  "  and  where  is  my  rose  ? — am  I  not  to  have  it, 
after  all  ?  " 

"  Are  you  really  coming  ?  "  asked  she,  pleased,  yet  incredu- 
lous, as  he  took  the  book  from  her  hand. 

"Do  I  not  always  come?"  he  replied.  "Is  it  likely  I  shall 
deprive  myself  of  that  pleasure  this  morning  ?  Take  care  of  the 
step !     Let  me  assist  you." 


"LA  BELLE   ODALISQUE."  19 7 


CHAPTER    VII. 
"la   belle    odalisque." 

RosALiXD  met  Madeleine  very  warmly.  In  some  sliglit  man- 
ner she  was  probabl}''  attached  to  her  sister — in  some  shght 
manner,  also,  indignant  with  Lacy.  This  indignation  was  not 
extreme,  for  the  younger  Miss  Severn  was  not  an  impulsive  per- 
son, nor  did  she  ever  feel  keenly  any  thing  which  concerned 
others ;  but  it  was  sincere,  and  untempered  by  any  reflection 
that  she  was  acting  in  the  same  manner.  It  was  a  woman's  privi- 
leo-e  to  flirt,  she  would  have  said,  if  such  a  consideration  had 
been  suggested  to  her,  and  it  is  well  known  that  many  things 
which  are  allowable  in  women  are  contemptible  in  men.  She 
had  no  doubt  that  Madeleine  would  fina  or  maice  an  occasion  to 
say  something  disagreeable  to  her,  but  that  did  not  greatly  mat- 
ter, and  in  the  mean  time  the  little  throb  of  ^sterly  feeling, 
already  mentioned,  stirred  in  her  breast  and  gave  a  genuine 
warmth  to  her  greeting.  Devereux,  on  his  part,  received 
the  somewhat  frigid  bow  which  Madeleine  bestowed  on  him, 
with  the  air  of  one  whose  conscience  was  altogether  void  of 
offense. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  Rosalind  asked.  "  I  never  was 
more  surprised  than  when  I  looked  up  a  minute  ago,  and  saw 
you  advancing  on  the  stage.  You  appeared  quite  dramatically 
— did  she  not?  "  (this  to  Devereux).  "  And  so  gracefully,  too  ! 
I  wish  I  could  hope  to  make  'my  appearance  so  effectively. 
But  how  is  Mary? — and  have  you  come  home 'for  good,' as 
children  say  ?  " 

"  Mary  is  much  better,"  replied  Madeleine,  "  but  I  have  not 
come  to  remain — only  for  a  short  visit.  I  did  not  find  you  at 
home,  so  I  thought  I  would  call  by  here  to  see  j^ou." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you ! "  said  Rosalind — who  felt  any  thing 
but  grateful,  since  her  tUe-dL-Ute  with  Devereux  had  reached  a 


108  A  QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

very  interesting  point  vvlien  the  interruption  occurred.  "But 
are  -you  walking." 

"  No — I  am  driving.     Mary's  carriage  is  at  the  door." 

"  Then  you  can  drive  me  home — I  detest  walking !  Let  us 
go  down,  for  this  place  is  growing  cold." 

Back  over  the  stage,  therefore,  they  went ;  and  as  Rosalind 
led  the  way,  Madeleine  found  herself  with  Devereux.  After  a 
minute,  he  spoke : 

"  I  am  exceedingly  glad  to  hear  that  Miss  Carlisle  is  better, 
Miss  Severn,  and  I  hope  you  have  forgiven  me  for  my  unlucky 
share  in  the  imprudence  w^hich  caused  her  illness." 

"  I  should  be  very  unreasonable  if  I  blamed  you  for  her  illness," 
said  Madeleine,  w'ho  felt  that  she  must  be  just,  even  though  she 
disliked  and  despised  this  handsome,  well-bred  man  of  the  world. 
"  Of  course,  you  could  not  know  that  Mary  had  heart-disease,  or 
that  so  slight  an  excitement  might  lead  to  such  painful  conse- 
quences." 

"  No,  I  could  not  know  it,"  he  said ;  "  but  now  that  I  have 
learned  it — now  that  I  am  not  likely  again  to  be  guilty  of  so 
much  imprudence — will  you  not  give  me  the  hope  of  seeing  her 
soon  ?  " 

She  turned  almost  involuntarily,  and  a  look  which  startled 
and  surprised  him  flashed  suddenly  out  of  her  brown  eyes. 
Devereux  never  forgot  that  moment.  He  was  holding  open  the 
door  which  Lacy  had  held  open  before  him,  and  the  full  glance 
met  his  own,  just  as  Madeleine  passed  into  the  darkness  bej'ond. 
Such  a  glance !  It  seemed  to  thrill  him  like  a  flash  of  elec- 
tricity. He  asked  himself  in  amazement,  what  it  meant.  What 
had  he  said  or  done  ?  What  had  called  forth  that  flash  of  fire 
out  of  the  softness  which  usually  sheathed  it  ?  What  was  it 
the  eloquent  look  expressed  ? — scorn  ? — indignation  ?  But  what 
had  occurred  to  wake  either  sentiment  ?  " 

Madeleine,  unconscious  how  much  she  had  betrayed,  walked 
on  till  they  emerged  upon  the  stage.  Then  she  tinmed  and  ad- 
dressed him.  "  I  believe  I  did  not  answer  your  question,"  she 
remarked.     "  The  doctor  has  said  that  Miss  Carlisle  is  able  to 


"LA   BELLE   ODALISQUE."  199 

receive  visitors,  but  I  think  it  would  be  well  for  those  who  see 
her  to  be  very  cautious.  The  least  excitement  may  cost  her 
another  severe  illness,  or — her  life." 

"  This  way,  Madeleine  ! "  said  Rosalind,  turning  round.  "Take 
care ! — the  steps  are  steep.  Laura  Gresham  fell  here  the  other 
day,  and  injured  herself  severely.  " 

"  Can  I  assist  you  ?  "  asked  Devereux,  but  Miss  Severn  re- 
turned a  decided  negative,  and,  as  he  followed,  he  asked  him- 
self again,  what  had  he  done  ?  He  could  think  of  nothing  that 
deserved  such  severe  punishment :  from  which  it  will  be  per- 
ceived that  Mr.  Devereux  was  afflicted  with  rather  a  callous  con- 
science. 

Having  put  the  two  ladies  into  the  waiting  carriage,  he  closed 
the  door,  and  was  turning  awaj^,  Vv'hen  Rosalind  spoke. 

"  You  will  remember  to-night,  at  the  Champions',  will  you 
not  ?  "  she  said ;  and  Madeleine,  glancing  at  her,  thought  how 
much  seductive  beauty  there  was  in  the  face  bent  forward,  the 
lovely  eyes  upraised,  with  an  expression  in  their  dejDths  that  the 
dullest  man  alive  might  have  read. 

Devereux  read  it  and  smiled.  After  all,  can  we  blame  a  man 
for  being  flattered,  when  his  vanity  is  gratified  as  some  women 
know  so  well  how  to  gratify  it ?  "I  will  endeavor  to  be  there," 
he  replied.  "  But  I  may  be  detained  away — by  business.  I 
shall  see  you  at  the  rehearsal  to-morrow,  however.  Good-morn- 
mg.  ' 

He  lifted  his  hat,  and  walked  away — an  elegant  figure,  in 
strong  contrast  with  most  of  the  Stansbury  men  loitering  about. 
Rosalind  looked  after  him  approvingly.  "  Are  not  his  manners 
charming  ?  "  she  said  to  her  sister,  "  and  does  not  he  dress  fault- 
lessly ?  There  is  no  suspicion  of  the  dandy  about  him,  and  yet 
every  thing  is  in  such  perfect  taste  !  What  beautiful  gloves  he 
wears  !  What  exquisite  handkerchiefs  he  uses  !  Ah,  how  I  adore 
the  polish  and  refinement  of  men  of  the  world  ! " 

"And  what  has  become  of  Mr.  Champion?"  asked  Made- 
leine.    "  Have  you  altogether  ceased  to  adore  him  ?  " 

"Did  I  ever  adore  him?"   replied  the  other,  raising  her 


200  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

brows.  "  Poor  James  !  I  don't  think  I  ever  did,  though  of  course 
I  like  him  very  much — after  a  fashion.  He  came  back  from  his 
courts  about  a  week  ago,  and  has  been  very  unpleasant  ever 
since.  If  men  only  knew  how  much  they  injure  their  cause  by 
behaving  like  bears — but  fortunately  he  is  very  busy,  and  I  do 
not  see  much  of  him.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  that  he  has 
thrown  up  his  part,  and  refuses  to  have  any  thing  more  to  do 
\vith  the  theatricals  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  heard  that  important  fact." 

"  It  is  quite  true.  Helen  came  to  the  rehearsal  this  morning 
very  much  vexed.  '  Brother  James  announced  at  breakfast  that, 
since  next  week  is  court  week,  he  will  not  have  any  time  to 
spare  for  theatrical  absurdities.'  So  now  we  are  almost  in  de- 
'  spair  for  some  one  to  take  his  place.  Helen  wants  Gordon  Lacy 
to  do  so,  but  he  only  cares  to  play  jSir  Edioard  Ardent  to  her 
Mrs.  ChilUngton.  It  affords  him  no  pleasure  to  take  the  part 
of  my  lover." 

"  Did  you  fancy  that  it  would  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  Why  should  it  ?  I  am  not  sympathetic  and 
spirituelle,  like  you — nor  yet  a  wealthy  Odalisque,  like  Helen 
Champion." 

"  Why  do  you  call  her  such  a  name  as  that  ?  "  asked  Made- 
leine. Despite  herself,  she  shrank  a  little.  The  same  expres- 
sion had  been  on  Lacy's  lips. 

"Have  you  not  heard  it  before?"  asked  Rosalind.  She 
laughed,  yet  she  glanced  keenly  at  her  sister.  She  was  sorry, 
but  then  she  was  angry  too — with  Lacy — and  thought  it  "  high 
time "  for  his  misdemeanors  to  be  known  to  the  person  most 
concerned  in  resenting  them. ,  "  That  is  what  every  one  in 
Stansbury  is  calling  Helen  just  now,"  she  said.  "  Gordon  ad- 
dressed some  verses  to  her  under  that  name,  and  she  was  so 
elated  that  she  has  exhibited  them  to  everybody.  People  are 
laughing  and  talking  no  little  over  the  affair,  and  one  hears  of 
*  La  Belle  Odalisque '  on  all  sides." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  verses  ? "  asked  Madeleine.  As  she 
3poke — steady  though  her  voice  was — her  heart  turned  faint. 


"LA   BELLE   ODALISQUE."  201 

It  was  not  the  isolated  fact  of  Lacy's  having  dedicated  some 
verses  to  another  woman  which  so  affected  her,  but  the  realiza- 
tion of  how  one  little  circumstance  after  another  seemed  to  be 
fitting  into  each  other  like  a  mosiac  work  of  proof  against  him. 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed  ! "  said  Rosalind.  "  The  question 
is  who  has  not  seen  them  r*  I  took  a  copy  for  your  benefit,  think- 
ing you  might  like  to  glance  over  it.  Come  in,  and  you  may 
have  that  pleasure." 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the  Severn  gate  as  she  spoke, 
but  Madeleine  hesitated.  "I  hardly  think  I  have  time,"  she 
said.     "  I  hardly  think  I  care — " 

"  Oh,^:?ray  come  in ! "  said  Rosalind,  anxiously.  "  I  want  your 
advice  about  my  dress  for  the  comedy.  I  must  look  my  prettiest, 
you  know,  and  mamma  has  lent  me  all  her  point-lace.  It  is  love- 
ly on  my  green  silk,  and  I  want  your  emeralds,  Madeleine." 

"  Of  course  3'ou  can  have  them,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Shall  I 
get  them  for  you  now  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind,"  answered  Rosalind,  springing  from 
the  carriage. 

They  entered  the  house  together,  and  went  up  to  Madeleine's 
room.  Here  the  latter  unlocked  the  drawer  of  a  small  cabinet 
and  took  out  a  casket  containing  her  mother's  jewels.  The  set 
of  emeralds  which  Rosalind  wished  to  borrow  was  the  hand- 
somest among  them — so  handsome,  indeed,  that  Madeleine 
seldom  wore  it.  She  had  a  fine  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things, 
and  she  knew — what  many  people  seem  not  to  know — that 
jewels  are  only  appropriate  at  certain  times  and  under  certain 
circumstances. 

"  How  lovely ! "  said  Rosalind,  sHpping  the  ear-rings  into 
her  ears  and  running  to  a  mirror.  "Fancy  Helen  Champion 
with  such  a  tint  next  Tier  complexion !  One  should  certainly 
be  obliged  to  Nature  when  she  has  given  one  a  delicate  skin ! 
Thank  you  very  much,  Madeleine !  And  now  I  will  get  you  the 
poem." 

Before  Madeleine  could  reply,  she  left  the  room,  and  in  a 
moment  came  back  with  a  sheet  of  folded  paper  in  her  hand. 


202  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"Here  it  is!"  she  said.  "Take  it  and  read  it  at  your  leisure 
— keep  it,  also,  I  beg,  for  Z  don't  want  it !  To  think  of  all  that 
nonsense  about  Helen  Champion,  one  of  the  most  ordinary  girls 
in  the  world  !  Gordon  ought  to  blush  with  shame !  But  I  was 
determined  you  should  know  about  it,  and,  if  you  take  my  ad- 
vice, you  will  write  at  once  and  discard  him." 

"  Thanks  for  the  advice,"  said  Madeleine,  slightly  smiling. 
She  took  the  paper  and  looked  at  it  doubtfully  for  a  moment. 
"  You  are  sure  there  is  no  breach  of  confidence  in  your  showing 
me  this  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Breach  of  confidence  !  "  repeated  Rosalind.  "  What  non- 
sense !  I  tell  you  Helen  shows  it  to  anybody ;  and  I  scribbled 
off  that  copy  before  her  eyes.  You  certainly  have  the  most 
absurd  scruples,  Madeleine  ! " 

"  It  is  better  to  have  too  many  than  too  few,"  said  Made- 
leine. 

She  slipped  the  paper  into  her  muff,  however,  put  away  the 
casket,  locked  the  cabinet-drawer,  and  turned  to  go.  "  Mary 
will  be  anxious,"  she  said.  "  I  promised  to  be  back  soon.  Ro- 
salind, I  wish  that  it  was  worth  while  to  speak  to  you  .seriously 
once  more — " 

Rosalind  put  her  hands  over  her  emerald-hung  ears.  "  I 
don't  mean  to  be  impolite,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  really  not  worth 
while  at  all.  I  know  what  I  am  about.  If  you  want  to  speak 
seriously  to  anybody,  devote  your  attention  to  Gordon." 

In  this  way  they  parted  ;  and  when  Madeleine  found  herself 
in  the  carriage,  alone  again  and  driving  out  toward  the  Lodge, 
she  drew  from  her  muff  the  paper  which  Rosalind  had  given 
her,  and  opened  it.  The  following  verses  were  copied  thereon, 
in  that  very  large  and  almost  illegible  "  English  hand  "  which 
has  become  so  fashionable  of  late  ; 

LA  BELLE  ODALI§QUE. 

Half  reclined  on  silken  cushions, 

Veiled  in  mellow,  golden  light, 
With  a  smile  so  sweetly  gentle, 

And  with  eyes  so  darkly  bright, 


"LA  BELLE   ODALISQUE."  203 

"With  an  air  of  tender  softness 

On  the  lovely,  downcast  face, 
Yet  a  spell  of  subtile  passion 

In  the  languid  Southern  grace  I 

With  an  arm  upon  the  sofa, 

Ivory-white  and  rounded  fair, 
And  a  slender  hand  caressing 

The  dusk  curls  of  raven  hair  ; 
With  a  smile  on  lips  half  parted. 

While  the  fringed  Uds  droop  low, 
And  a  charm  of  pensive  beauty 

On  the  smooth,  broad,  Grecian  brow  I 

With  a  royal  grace  of  motion 

Waves  the  fan  within  her  hand, 
Trained  as  any  queenly  sceptre 

To  the  gesture  of  command  ! 
And  behold  a  dewy  rose-bud 

Glowing  blushfully  above 
The  warm  heart-beats  of  a  bosom 

Thrilled  with  happiness  and  love  ! 

Who  may  master,  0  my  empress  ! 

The  deep  secrets  of  your  grace  ? 
Who  may  read  the  rare  enigmas 

Hidden  in  your  haunting  face  ! 
What  your  arch-enchantments  whisper, 

And  what  fateful  meaning  hes 
In  the  depths  of  star-like  lustre 

Dawning  from  your  midnight  eyes  ? 

'Neath  the  shade  of  drooping  lashes 

What  gay  gleams  of  light  beguile  ! 
Who  can  say  what  magic  dweUeth 

In  your  swift,  bewildering  smile  ! 
All  your  tones  are  rife  with  music, 

Rhythmic  rills  of  silvery  sound. 
Rippling  through  the  dreamy  softness 

Of  the  perfumed  air  around. 

Oh,  the  whirl  of  captured  senses  I 
Oh,  the  pulse-beats  swift  and  strong  I 


204  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

What  to  me  the  rush  of  dancers  ? 

What  to  me  the  glittering  throng  ? 
Fettered  by  your  eyes'  dark  splendor, 

I  confront  you  charmed  and  dumb  ; 
Wondering  what  strange  fate  shall  crown  you, 

Siren  !  in  the  days  to  come  ! 

If  Madeleine's  lip  curled  over  this  effusion,  let  no  one  blame 
her,  or  fancy  that  it  curled  from  jealousy  of  the  woman  so  be- 
rhymed. Indeed,  the  flattery  with  which  every  line  was  redolent, 
struck  her  almost  absurdly.  This  to  Helen  Champion!  She 
smiled  as  her  hand  dropped  the  paper  into  her  lap — a  smile  of 
faint  amusement  dashed  with  a  scorn  that  with  many  women 
would  have  passed  into  cynical  bitterness.  It  stopped  short  of 
bitterness  with  Madeleine,  yet  Lacy  would  scarcely  have  been 
gratified  thereat  if  he  had  read  her  thoughts.  These  thoughts 
were  not  angry  or  contemptuous,  but  they  simply  faced  for  the 
first  time  a  consciousness  which  had  before  this  dawned  upon 
her — a  consciousness  that  the  man  whom  she  loved,  the  mxan  she 
had  promised  to  marry,  was  no  high  ideal,  no  stainless  knight, 
no  sublime  demi-god  at  whose  feet  she  could  offer  incense,  but  a 
mortal  very  full  of  faults,  and  (worse  still  in  the  eyes  of  a  wom- 
an !)  full  of  weaknesses. 

There  are  few  passions  to  which  such  an  hour  of  awakening 
does  not  come,  and  let  us  own  that  there  are  few  that  stand  the 
test  of  the  revulsion  of  feeling  which  inevitably  follows.  The 
love  which  draws  together  the  rank  and  file  of  mankind,  partakes 
very  little  of  the  nature  of  an  idealizing  sentiment,  therefore  to 
this  love  no  such  disenchantment  is  possible.  But  to  the  few 
who  are  exalted — whether  for  their  own  good  or  not,  who  can 
Bay  ? — above  this  level,  the  passion  of  love  must  be  an  idealizing 
sentiment,  or  else  it  is  degradation.  Yet  to  how  many  the  hour 
comes  when  the  veil  of  romance  is  rent  asunder  and  the  clay 
feet  of  the  idol  stand  confessed  !  Who  blames  Love  then,  if  he 
turns  and  flies  ?  But  there  are  some  rare  natures  in  which  he 
only  changes  his  guise — changes  from  passion  to  forbearing  ten- 
derness.    Such  a  nature  was  Madeleine  Severn's.     Not  a  weak 


"LA  BELLE    ODALISQUE."  205 

nature  clinging  like  a  reed  to  that  which  has  shaken  it  off,  but  a 
nature  rock- like  in  its  constancy  and  truth. 

As  she  sat,  with  the  poem  lying  in  her  lap,  gazing  absently 
out  of  the  carriage-window  at  the  landscape  flitting  past — the 
bare  fields,  the  brown  woods,  the  curling  white  smoke  of  the 
Carlisle  mills  in  the  distance — she  was  asking  herself  sadly  what 
she  had  better  do.  She  put  herself  aside,  she  would  not  listen 
either  to  her  pride  or  her  heart,  as  she  pondered  the  question. 
There  was  no  one  to  whom  she  could  appeal.  Basil,  in  a  differ- 
ent spirit,  would  have  echoed  Itosalind's  advice,  and  urged  her 
to  discard  the  man  who  thus  paraded  his  devotion  to  another 
w'oman.  But  Madeleine  held  her  pledge  as  something  which 
had  not  been  lightly  given  and  could  not  be  lightly  broken.  No 
one  would  ever  say  to  her  : 

"  I  think  you  hardly  know  the  tender  rhyme 
Of  *  Trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all.' " 

As  she  entered  the  Lodge,  she  encountered  Mrs.  Ingram  in 
the  hall.  "  Mary  grew  tired,  and  has  been  taken  up-stairs,"  said 
that  lady,  "  but  Mr.  Lacy  is  in  the  library,  and  has  been  waiting 
for  you  for  some  time." 

The  speaker  was  not  very  observant,  or  she  might  have  no- 
ticed the  start  which  Madeleine  gave  at  the  sound  of  that  unex- 
pected name.  It  was  the  last  she  had  any  idea  of  hearing,  and 
she  stood  still  for  a  moment,  undecided  whether  to  go  in  at  once, 
or  to  take  a  little  time  to  consider  what  she  should  say.  But 
what  good  purpose  would  consideration  serve  ?  surely  none,  and 
so,  turning,  she  entered  the  room. 

Lacy  had  seen  the  approach  of  the  carriage,  and  w'hen  she 
opened  the  door,  he  advanced  quickly  to  meet  her  with  both 
hands  extended. 

"  My  Madeleine,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  do  not  judge  me  until 
you  hear  me  I " 

"  Is  there  any  need  for  me  to  judge  you  at  all  ?  "  asked  Made- 
leine with  gentle  coldness.  She  allowed  him  to  take  her  hands, 
but  she  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  w^iich  stopped  any  warmer 


20G  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

•demonstration.  After  all,  her-pride  had  been  keenly  wounded, 
and  she  would  have  been  something  more  than  a  woman  if  she 
had  showed  no  sign  of  it. 

"Have  you  not  the  right  to  judge  me?"  said  Lacy,  "and 
are  j'ou  not  exercising  that  right  now  ?  Madeleine,  are  you  an- 
gry with  me,  or  are  you  contemptuous  of  me  ?  An  ordinary 
woman  might  be  both ;  but  you — tell  me,  is  it  only  that  foolish 
conversation  which  you  overheard  that  makes  you  look  at  me 
with  eyes  which  are  not  like  your  own  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  asked  she,  a  little  wearily.  She 
drew  her  hands  away — not  impatiently,  hut  decidedly — and  going 
to  the  firejDlaee  sank  down  into  one  of  the  deep  chairs  always 
placed  there.  She  was  inexpressibly  tired,  and  though  her  tears 
did  not  usually  lie  on  the  surface,  she  felt  just  then  as  if  it  would 
be  a  relief  to  let  them  jflow.  It  all  seemed  so  hopeless,  why  waste 
words  over  it  ?  Palaces  may  rise  from  their  ruins,  but  who  can 
build  up  again  a  shattered  trust  ? 

Her  apathy  alarmed  Lacy  more  than  an  avalanche  of  re- 
proaches could  have  done.     He  followed  and  stood  before  her. 

"Madeleine,"  he  said,  "is  this  kind?  is  it  just?  I  can  im- 
agine all  that  you  have  heard,  but  I  did  not  think  you  would 
condemn  me  before  I  had  spoken  in  self-defense  ! " 

"  I  do  not  condemn  you,"  said  Madeleine,  quietly.  "  It  is 
natural  enough,  I  suppose.  I  only  beg  you  to  tell  me  this  tiling 
frankl}^,  do  you  wish  to  be  released  from  j^our  engagement  ?  " 

"  Great  Heaven  ! "  he  said,  vehemently,  "  what  have  3"ou 
heard  ?  What  madness  is  this  ?  Do  I  wish  to  be  released  ?  Let 
me  ask  another  question  :  why  should  you  imagine  such  a  thing  ?" 

She  felt  a  strange  disinclination  to  words,  and  having  the 
paper  containing  the  poem  stillin  her  hand,  it  seemed  an  easy 
way  to  answer  him — at  least  it  embodied  many  things  difficult 
to  utter.  She  extended  it,  therefore.  "  There  is  one  reason 
why  I  might  think  so,"  she  said. 

He  received  and  opened  it.  Certainly  he  had  not  expected 
to  find  what  he  did  within.  The  blood  leaped  in  a  torrent  to  his 
face,  and  for  an  instant  he  stood  speechless.     Then  he  recovered 


"LA  BELLE   ODALISQUE."  207 

himself,  and,  crumpling  the  sheet  angrily  in  his  hand,  flung  it  on 
the  glowing  coals. 

"And  you  have  given  a  moment's  consideration  to  that  piece 
of  consummate  folly  ! "  he  said.  "  Madeleine,  I  did  not  think 
such  a  thing  possible  !  I  thought  you  so  far  above  the  class  of 
women  who  are  suspicious  and  exacting,  that  it  never  occurred 
to  me  to  hesitate  in  writing  that  absurd  bit  of  flattery,  to  fulfill  a 
promise  and  gratify  Miss  Champion's  vanity  I " 

"  It  is  not  only  that,"  said  Madeleine,  forced  to  express  her- 
self, and  watching  the  shriveled  black  paper  on  the  fire.  "I 
should  despise  myself  if  I  were  jealous  or  exacting,  but  it  seems 
that  what  I  overheard  to-day — most  accidentally — is  very  com- 
mon, that  you  have  been  devoting  yourself  to  Helen  Champion 
until  every  one  in  Stansbury  is  talking  of  it,  and — I  cannot  bear 
to  saj"  such  things  ! "  she  broke  off  abruptly.  "  Gordon,  let  it 
end.     You  know  all,  more  than  all  that  I  mean." 

"  I  know,"  said  Gordon,  "  that  I  am  a  great  fool,  and  that  I 
have  probably  amused  myself  more  than  I  ought  with  the  vanity 
of  an  uncommonly  silly  woman ;  but  my  folly  has  not  yet  reached 
the  point  of  giving  up  you,  Madeleine,  the  good  angel  of  my  life. 
My  darhng,  can  you  not  forgive  me?" — again  he  held  out  his 
hands — "  if  I  had  thought  for  a  minute  that  such  a  thing  would 
cause  you  pain  or  annoyance,  do  you  not  know  that  I  could 
never  have  been  guilty  of  it  ?  But  I  fancied  your  trust  so  per- 
fect—" 

"  It  is ! "  she  cried,  interrupting  him  with  sudden  impetu- 
osity ;  "  it  is  !  I  could  not  believe  that  you  meant  any  wrong, 
any  thing  unworthy  of  yourself,  any  thing  unkind  to  me,  yet — 
yet — it  was  of  you  that  I  thought  when  I  asked  if  you  did  not 
wish  our  engagement  ended." 

"  Never  ask  me  such  a  thing  again ! "  said  he,  quickly.  "  It  is 
frightful !  I  feel  as  if  the  solid  earth  had  shaken  under  my  feet. 
A  hundred  Helen  Champions  are  not  worth  such  a  shock !  And 
you — how  pale  you  are  ! "  He  knelt  in  front  of  her  to  look  into 
her  eyes.  "Is  it  Zwho  have  made  you  look  so?  How  can  I 
forgive  myself !     But  do  you  forgive  me  ?     Tell  me  so !  " 


208  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  Is  it  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  so  ?  "  she  said,  with  her 
caressing  smile.     "  Do  j'^ou  not  know  it  ?  " 

But,  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes  inv-oluntarily  went  past  his  face 
to  the  shriveled  fragment  lying  on  the  fire. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

A    MODE     OF     COMPROMISE. 

The  business  which  detained  Mr.  Devereux  from  the  social 
gathering  at  Mrs.  Champion's  w^as  not  merely  the  excuse  w^hich 
too  often  passes  current  under  that  name.     He  had  received  a 
telegram  early  in   the  day  from  Mr.   Stringfellow,  telling  him 
that  he  would  be  in  Stansbury  that  evening,  and,  if  an  appoint- 
ment with  a  lawyer  is  not  business,  what  can  possibly  come 
under  that  head  ?     On  a  train  which  reached  Stansburv  at  7.45 
p.  M.,  Mr.  Stringfellow  arrived,  therefore,  and  an  hour  later  his 
client  and  himself  sat  together  over  a  bright  fire  in  the  room  of 
the  former,  with  a  bowl  of  punch  on  a  table  between  them. 
This  punch  Mr.  Stringfellow  had  mixed  wdth  his  own  hands,  and 
he  was  now  doing  full  justice  to  it.     He  looked,  indeed,  as  if  he 
were  in  the  habit  of  doing  justice  to  such  refreshments  of  the 
inner  man  ;  not  that  there  were  any  signs  of  vulgar  intemperance 
about  him,  but  he  bore  every  stamp  of  the  habitual  hon  vivant. 
His  ruddy  face  was  full  and  jovial,  though  his  small  gray  eyes 
were  keen  and  piercing ;  his  pronounced  aquiline  nose  was  also 
ruddy,  but  his  cleanly -shaven  cleft  chin  w^as  quite  Napoleonic. 
In  society  he  was  remarkably  popular,  being  a  genial  host   and 
pleasant  companion,  a  giver  of  good  dinners  and  a  lover  of  good 
wines ;  at  the  bar  he  was  esteemed  an  acute  lawyer,  and  an  honest 
man  withal,  as  men  go.     This  gentleman  now  glanced  with  some 
disapprobation  at  his  companion,  who,  leaning  back  indolently, 
with  the  firelight  flickering  over  his  face,  seemed  rather  inclined 
to  trifle  with  a  half-drained  glass  of  punch. 


A  MODE   OF   COMPROMISE.  209 

"  You  are  like  your  father,  very  like  your  father,  Arnold,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  even  like  him  in  that  " — he  indicated  the  glass 
of  punch — "  I  knew  no  man  of  his  generation  who  drank  so  mod- 
erately ;  of  course  he  did  drink,  like  a  gentleman,  but  'pon  my 
life  I  don't  believe  he  cared  much  more  for  it  than  a  woman 
might.  Give  him  his  choice,  and  he  always  took  light  Rhenish, 
or  something  of  that  kind.  Bless  my  soul,  how  much  you  re- 
mind me  of  him  as  you  sit  there  now  !  " 

"  I  suppose  I  am  like  him,"  said  Devereux.  "  At  least  I 
know  that  I  deserve  no  credit  for  being  temperate — I  have  never 
felt  any  temptation  to  be  otherwise.  I  also  prefer  light  wines — 
though  I  esteem  myself  a  judge  of  all.  I  have  cultivated  the 
accomplishment  as  an  accomplishment.  One  should  not  be  at 
the  mercy  of  a  wine-merchant,  nor  offer  one's  friends  poor  vint- 
age whatever  else  may  be  lacking  in  one's  mhiage.  You  must 
not  fancy  that  I  do  not  appreciate  your  punch,  my  dear  Mr. 
Stringfellow,"  he  added.  "  It  is  excellent ! "  and,  as  a  practical 
commendation,  he  drained  his  glass. 

"  It  is  made  according  to  a  receipt  which  I  may  call  an  heir- 
loom in  my  family,"  said  Mr.  Stringfellow,  helping  himself  to 
another  supply.  "  Though  a  great  deal  of  diplomacy  has  been 
used  to  obtain  it,  neither  my  father  nor  myself  has  ever  given 
it  to  any  one.  My  grandfather,  who  was  a  sea-captain,  brought 
it  home  from  one  of  his  voyages — quite  the  most  valuable  thing 
that  he  did  bring.  Take  some  more,  Arnold,  don't  be  afraid  of 
your  head  !     It  would  scarcely  hurt  a  kitten  !  " 

"  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  my  head,"  replied  Devereux,  truth- 
fully— having  tested  that  organ  too  often  not  to  know  its  capaci- 
ties. "  But  no  more  just  at  present,  thank  you ;  will  you  have 
a  cigar  ?  I  can  recommend  these." 

Mr.  Stringfellow  took  one  of  the  offered  cigars,  bit  off  the  end, 
lighted  it,  drew  two  or  three  whiffs,  and  nodded  approval.  "  Uu 
commonly  good !  "  he  said.  Then  warmed  by  the  fire  and  the 
punch,  he  stretched  out  his  legs  before  him  on  the  hearth-rug,  and 
looked  benignly  at  his  companion.  "  Well,"  he  said, "  you  have 
been  in  the  field  for  a  month  now,  I  believe  :  how  goes  the  cam- 
paign ?  " 


210  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

Devereux  shrugged  his  shoulders  lazily.  "It  scarcely  goes 
at  all,"  he  said.  "  The  invincible  obstinacy  of  Miss  Carlisle's  law- 
yer and  agent  foiled  all  my  attempts  at  compromise,  as  I  Avrote 
you." 

"  So  much  the  better  !  "  said  the  lawyer,  with  an  air  of  satis- 
faction. "  You  were  a — hem  ! — very  foolish  ever  to  m.ake  such 
an  oifer.  I  told  you  so  when  you  came  here.  Quixotism  is  a 
very  fine  thing  in  its  place,  my  dear  boy — and  you  inherit  that 
too,  from  your  father — but  quixotism  in  business  matters  is  devil- 
ishly out  of  place  !  I  told  you,  when  we  parted,  that  the  only 
sensible  way  to  compromise  would  be  to  marry  Miss  Carlisle. 
Have  you  thought  at  all  of  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Devereux,  quietly,  "  I  have  thought  of  it." 

"You  have,  eh  ?  And  have  you  induced  the  lady  to  think 
of  it  also  ?  " 

"I  might  have  done  so,  perhaps,  but  I  have  lacked  oppor- 
tunit3\  She  is  an  invalid,  and  has  been  very  ill  for  two  or  three 
weeks." 

"  Hem  ! "  said  Mr.  Stringfellow,  in  a  tone  of  strong  disap- 
proval. "  Sick  women  are  the  very  deuce  !  My  first  wife  was 
an  invalid,  and  I  learned  that  to  mv  cost.  Miss  Carlisle  is  blind 
besides,  is  she  not  ?  On  the  whole,  with  your  chance  of  winning 
the  lawsuit,  I  don't  know  that  I  would  advise  you  to  compro- 
mise in  that  way." 

"  You  think  there  is  no  doubt  of  my  winning  the  suit  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  in  the  world.  The  case  will  be  decided  in  your 
favor  next  week." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Devereux,  in  a  musing  tone.  He  took  the  cigar 
from  between  his  lips,  and  emitted  a  cloud  of  light-blue,  curling 
smoke  that  formed  a  fantastic  haze  about  his  head.  "  You  will 
think  me  more  of  a  Quixote  than  ever,  I  am  afraid,"  he  said, 
*'  when  I  tell  you  that  such  an  assurance  gives  me  the  strongest 
possible  reason  for  endeavoring  to  compromise,  or  rather  to  fuse 
Miss  Carlisle's  interest  and  my  own  in  the  manner  of  which  we 
have  spoken." 

"  You  mean  out  of  regard  for  her,  I  suppose  ?  " 


A   MODE   OF   COMPROMISE.  211 

"  Yes,  out  of  regard  for  her.  Is  it  not  the  best  tbmg  I  can 
do  as  matters  stand  ?  " 

"  That  depends,"  said  Mr.  Stringfellow,  cautious^.  "  If  she 
were  an  ordinary  woman,  I  should  say  that  it  was  the  best  thing, 
but  blind  !  and  an  invalid  !  By  George,  you  are  more  of  a  Quix- 
ote than  I  gave  3^ou  credit  for  being,  if  you  can  stand  all  that !  " 

"  It  is  precisely  because  she  is  not  an  ordinary  woman  that  I 
think  of  it,"  said  Devereux,  in  his  careless,  indolent  voice.  "I 
have  altogether  passed  the  age  of  sentiment — if  I  ever  had  such 
an  age,  nothing  would  astonish  and,  on  the  whole,  bore  me  more 
than  to  find  myself  involved  in  a  grande  passio7i.  But  certain 
requirements  of  my  taste  must  be  satisfied  in  the  woman  whom 
I  marry.  As  I  grow  older,  I  find  myself  becoming  critical  and 
fastidious  to  an  uncomfortable  degree.  An  ordinary  woman  wdth 
the  dowry  of  a  princess  would  not  tempt  me." 

"  Then  Miss  Carlisle—  ?  " 

"  As  I  have  said,  is  not  an  ordinary  woman.  She  interests 
and  pleases  me  exceedingly.  I  feel  sure  that  I  can  make  what 
the  French  call  a  mariage  de  raison  with  her,  and  find  it  thor- 
oughly satisfactory,  even  though  she  is  blind  and  an  invalid." 

"  A  very  odd  taste ! "  said  Mr.  Stringfellow,  shaking  his 
head ;  "  a  very  odd  taste,  indeed  !  I  should  ■  have  fancied  you 
would  have  wished  to  marry  a  woman  of  great  beauty  and  fash- 
ion— one  who  would  make  a  sensation  in  the  world." 

"  You  think  so  because  I  have  been  in  the  train  of  such  women 
ever  since  my  boyhood.  But  can  you  not  imagine  that  one  may 
have  a  surfeit  of  even  such  excellent  things  as  beauty  and  fash- 
ion ?  You  understand  me  well  enough  to  believe  that  I  am  not 
affecting  hlase  puppyism  when  I  say  that  I  know  such  women 
thoroughly,  and  have  altogether  ceased  to  be  attracted  or  enter- 
tained by  them.  They  have  palled  on  my  taste — if,  indeed,  they 
ever  suited  it." 

"  Odd  ! "  said  Mr.  Stringfellow,  still  shaking  his  head  "  But 
convenient,  at  least,  in  the  present  instance.  And  Miss  Carlisle, 
herself?  Vanity  apart,  can  you  not  tell  what  kind  of  an  im- 
pression you  have  made  upon  her?" 


212  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  Vanity  apart — for,  indeed,  what  need  is  there  of  vanity  ? — 
I  think  that  she  is  inclined  to  like  me,"  said  Devereux,  with  un- 
moved quietude.  "  But  her  illness  came  at  an  unfortunate  time 
— ^just  when  I  had  decided  on  this  step — and,  no  doubt,  I  shall 
have  to  make  my  impression  over  again.  Besides  this,  I  have  to 
face  the  disadvantage  of  being  disliked  and  distrusted  by  her 
closest  companion  and  nearest  friend." 

"  Not  a  woman,  surely  ?  " 

"  A  woman,  certainly — why  not  ?  " 

"  I  thought  women  were  alwaj^s  your  friends." 

"  There  is  no  rule  without  its  excei3tions.  Miss  Severn  is  not 
my  friend." 

"  Miss  Severn !  "  repeated  Mr.  Stringfellow.  "  I  am  told  that 
Champion  is  engaged  to  a  Miss  Severn.  No  doubt  this  is  the 
same,  and  she  is  merely  taking  his  side  against  you.  Women 
are  always  partisans." 

"  Very  true  ;  and  your  reason  would  be  quite  satisfactory  but 
for  the  slight  fact  that  the  Miss  Severn  who  is  engaged  to  Cham- 
pion is  not  the  one  of  whom  I  speak." 

"  Not — eh  ?     Then  who  is  the  one  of  whom  you  speak  ?  " 

"  She  is  sister  to  Mr.  Champion's  Jianceey  and  cousin  to  Miss 
Carlisle." 

"  Then  she  is  doubly  pledged  to  oppose  you  ;  and  may  prove 
dangerous  if  she  belongs  to  the  class  called  designing." 

Devereux  could  not  restrain  a  smile.  Madeleine's  face  rose 
before  him — the  delicate,  noble  features,  the  dark,  eloquent  eyes. 
"  No  one  could  possibly  think  that  she  belongs  to  that  class," 
he  said.  "But  her  prejudices  against  me  may  be  strong,  never- 
theless." 

"  You  ought  to  devote  yourself  to  conciliating  her,  if  her  influ- 
ence is  really  great,"  said  Mr.  Stringfellow,  comj^lacently.  "  But, 
after  all,  why  should  she  be  prejudiced  ?  Any  one  might  see  that 
you  are  acting,  and  have  acted,  with  most  uncommon  regard  fo] 
Miss  Carlisle." 

Devereux  did  not  choose  to  enter  into  the  possible  or  prob- 
able grounds  of  Madeleine's  prejudice.    He  let  the  subject  drop; 


A  MODE   OF   COMPROMISE.  213 

and  so,  for  a  minute,  there  was  silence.    It  was  Mr.  Stringfellow 
who  spoke  first. 

"  I  suppose,  since  jou  have  been  here,  you  have  seen  old 
Burnham — the  witness  to  your  grandfather's  handwriting  ?  " 

"  T  have  seen  him  only  once,"  Devereux  answered.  "  Then, 
though  his  mind  was  perfectly  clear,  his  health  seemed  very 
feeble." 

"  He  must  not  die  before  he  gives  his  evidence,"  said  Mr. 
Stringfellow,  hastily.  "  That  would  never  do  !  We  must  go  to 
see  him  to-morrow.     How  far  does  he  live  from  here  ?  " 

"  Eight  or  nine  miles,  perhaps." 

"  Well,  we  must  drive  out.  In  the  morning,  say — have  you 
any  engagement  for  the  morning  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  answer  yes — I  have  been  foolish  enough  to 
become  entangled  in  some  ridiculous  amateur  theatricals,  and 
there  is  a  rehearsal  in  the  morning." 

"  The  afternoon,  then — are  you  free  for  the  afternoon  ?  " 

"Entirely  so.  We  will  go  after  dinner,  if  the  weather  is 
good." 

The  next  morning,  at  the  rehearsal,  Rosalind  noticed  that 

Devereux  seemed  a  little  distrait — a  very  little,  for  he  was  too 

thoroughly  accustomed  to  the  social  habitude  of  concealing  what 

he  felt,  to  betray,  in  any  marked  degree,  the  real  absence  of  his 

mind.      It  was    an   unusual    state  w-ith  him,  for  he   generally 

kept  his  mind  well  under  control  ;    but,  since  Mr.  Stringfel- 

low's  words  the  night  before,  his  thoughts  were  running  very 

much  on  Mary  Carlisle.     Not  as  a  lover's  thoughts  run  on  the 

object  of  his  choice — that  was  not  to  be  expected — but  as  a 

man  thinks  of  something  which  puzzles  and  disquiets   him.     It 

was  not  any  consideration  of  Mary  herself  which  puzzled  and 

disquieted  Devereux,  but  a  doubt  which  he   could  not  decide, 

whether  he  should  or  should  not  speak  to  her  definitely  before 

the  suit  came  off  in  the  courts.     He  wished  very  much  to  do  so 

before  that  time,  for  reasons  which  will  be  at  once  apparent.    If 

things  were  already  settled  between  them,  the  decision  of  the 

court  would  not  matter ;  but  if  things  were  not  settled,  and  U 

10 


214  A   QUESTION  OF  HOXOR. 

the  decision  were  given  in  his  favor,  he  felt  instinctively  that 
Mary  Carlisle  would  greatly  distrust  his  reason  for  addressing  her, 
and  would  set  it  down  unhesitatingly  to  pity  for  her  changed 
condition.  Yet,  to  speak  to  her  at  once  on  such  a  subject  would 
seem  premature,  if  not  presumptuous.  Then  a  recollection  of 
Madeleine's  warning  suddenly  came  to  him.  What  if  he  should 
endanger  her  life,  or  kill  her  !  On  the  whole,  Mr.  Devereux  had 
various  considerations  to  revolve  ;  and  his  slight  absence  of  mind 
at  the  rehearsal  was  not  Yerj  remarkable. 

When  the  important  matter  was  over,  he  glanced  at  his  watch. 
It  was  only  twelve  o'clock — fully  time  for  a  visit  to  the  Lodge — 
and  he  felt  that  it  was  imperative  that  he  should  see  Mary.  Her 
manner  would  tell  him,  better  than  any  reflections  of  his  own,  how^ 
far  he  might  venture  to  speak  openly.  He  felt  that  he  could  rely 
on  his  judgment,  as  a  man  "  in  love  "  can  never  do.  Much  as  he 
liked  and  admired  the  gentle  blind  girl,  his  heart  beat  no  whit 
quicker  at  thought  of  her,  nor  sent  up  any  mist  to  cloud  and  con- 
fuse the  cool,  steady  brain.  This  fact  did  not  make  him  pause 
for  a  moment  in  his  resolution  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  One  or 
two  fever-fits  of  passion  in  his  early  youth  had  cured  him  of  all 
desire  to  drink  again  of  the  cup  of  Circe.  3Iariage  de  raison 
commended  itself  to  his  philosophical  soul  as  the  thing  to  be  most 
desired,  and  certainly  reason,  kindness,  and  good  taste,  were  all 
on  the  side  of  a  marriage  with  j\Iary  Carlisle. 

With  these  admirable  dispositions  he  approached  the  Lodge. 
The  mellow  November  sunshine  was  lying  over  the  house,  the 
soft  November  haze  was  draping  all  the  distant  landscape.  The 
atmosphere  had  the  Indian  summer  deliciousness — a  warmth 
without  heat — in  its  golden  stillness.  Devereux  remembered  the 
last  day  he  had  been  there — the  falling  rain,  the  lowering  sky 
outside  ;  within,  the  hushed  house,  and  Madeleine's  cold,  proud 
face.  He  smiled  a  little  to  himself,  and  wondered  if  she  would 
see  him  again,  and  send  him  away  without  a  glimpse  of  Miss 
Carlisle. 

In  answer  to  his  summons  at  the  door,  Albert  appeared  and 
ushered  him  into  the  drawing-room.     Here  he  was  left  for  a  few 


A  MODE   OF   COMPROMISE.  215 

minutes  in  suspense,  wliicli  did  not  prove  very  irksome,  until  the 
servant  reappeared  saj-ing  that  Miss  Carlisle  would  receive  him. 
Thereupon  he  was  conducted  across  the  hall  and  admitted  to 
that  pleasant,  anomalous  apartment  known  as  the  library. 

Fate  had  befriended  him.  Mary  was  alone.  She  was  re- 
clining in  a  deep  chair,  dressed  very  much  as  he  had  seen  her 
first,  in  soft  pale  blue.  Her  fair,  delicate  face,  sharpened  by 
illness,  was  turned  toward  the  door,  and  there  was  something 
inexpressibly  touching  in  the  sightless  eyes  and  sensitive  lips 
which  made  Devereux's  heart  melt  with  a  sensation  very  closely 
akin  to  tenderness;  indeed,  it  was  such  tenderness  as  he  might 
have  felt  for  a  frail,  attractive  child.  He  advanced  and  took 
her  hand.     "  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  well  again  !  "  he  said. 

The  faint  color  flickered  into  her  cheeks,  the  lips  smiled,  the 
blue  eyes  met  his  own  with  their  pathetic  introspective  regard. 
*'  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  gently.  "  Yes,  I  am  well  again, 
that  is,  as  well  as  I  shall  ever  be,  I  suppose.  I  have  never  had 
strong  health  :  I  know  that  I  must  never  expect  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked ;  involuntarily  speaking  as  gently  as 
herself.  "  Do  you  not  think,  if  you  went  to  a  warmer  climate, 
perhaps — " 

She  shook  her  head,  shrinking  into  the  depths  of  her  chair. 
"  I  could  not  leave  home,"  she  said.  "  I  have  never  done  so — 
I  think  I  have  taken  root.  AYhy  should  a  mild  climate  help  me? 
I  have  no  disease  which  it  could  cure." 

"  A  mild  climate  helps  almost  all  diseases,"  said  Devereux. 
*'  Then  change  of  air — " 

But  again  Mary  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  sure  there  is  no  bet- 
ter air  anvwhere  than  that  which  one  breathes  here,"  she  said. 
"  Is  it  not  pleasant  to-day  ?  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  been 
sick  that  it  seems  to  me  so  delightful." 

"  I  scarcely  think  so.  I  have  not  been  sick,  and  it  seems  de- 
lightful to  me.  Do  you  know,  by-the-way,  that  I  have  been 
suffering  great  self-reproach  during  your  illness  ?  The  last  day 
that  I  was  here  I  remained  too  long,  and  so  became  accountable 
for  part  at  least  of  your  suffering." 


21G  A   QUESTION    OF  HONOR. 

"  Why  do  you  think  such  a  thing-  9  "  she  asked.  "  Did  any 
one  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Miss  Severn  told  me  that  j'ou  were  ill  because  you  had  been 
over-excited." 

"All,  yes  !  over-excited.  But  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it 
— at  least  1  mean  that  you  could  not  imagine  I  would  be  excited 
by  that  which  would  be  no  excitement  at  all  to  any  one  else." 

"  I  should  have  remembered  that  you  are  not  like  other  peo- 
ple." 

"No,"  she  said,  eagerly,  "you  must  not  blame  yourself!  I 
assure  you  it  was  not  the  excitement  of  your  visit  which  caused 
my  illness.  I  should  have  been  ill  in  any  event.  I  am  confident " 
(very  positively)  "  of  that." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  reassure  me,"  he  said,  watching*  the 
play  of  expression  over  the  mobile  face,  the  soft  lights  and  shad- 
ows which  chased  each  other  across  it,  and  the  tremulous  mo- 
tion of  the  flexile  lips.  Dared  he  speak  ?  This  was  what  he  was 
thinking,  and,  while  he  thought  it,  Mary  went  on : 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  during  these  weeks  Avhich 
have  seemed  to  me  so  weary  ?  Surely  you  have  not  spent  the 
time  in  rehearsing  the  play  of  which  I  have  heard  so  much  ?  " 

"  I  have  spent  more  of  it  in  that  way  than  I  should  like  to 
consider,  if  there  had  been  any  thing  else  for  me  to  do,"  he 
answered.  "  But  when  I  was  not  shooting  there  was  nothing- 
else.  You  may  remember  that  I  shocked  you  by  confessing 
when  I  was  here  last  that  I  am  not  very  much  of  a  reading- 
man." 

"  You  did  not  shock  me,  but  I  thought  that  it  was  strange," 
said  Mary.  "  We  always  think  it  strange  when  others  do  not 
like  what  we  like." 

"  Yesterday  my  lawyer  arrived — Mr.  Stringfellow,  of  whom 
you  have  heard  me  speak,"  Devereux  continued,  plunging  head- 
long into  the  subject  which  he  saw  no  means  of  approaching 
carefully,  though  he  wished  to  do  so.  "  Will  you  forgive  me  if  I 
draw  your  attention  again  to  the  case  at  issue  between  us,  which 
will  probably  be  decided  next  week  ?  " 


A  MODE   OF   COMPROMISE.  217 

*' Do  you  think  it  is  at  issue  between  usf  or  between  our 
lawyers  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  disquieting 
yourself  on  my  account.  You  cannot  tell  how  little  interest  I  feel 
except  for  others.  But  it  will  be  a  terrible  blow  to  poor  Basil 
if  the  case  goes  against  me  !  "  she  added,  gravely.  "  And  this 
reminds  me,  Mr.  Devereux,  that  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask  of 
you." 

"  Surely  you  know  that  you  have  only  to  ask,  that  I  will  do 
any  thing  which  lies  in  my  power  for  you,"  he  said,  earnestly, 
touched  afresh  by  the  sweet  face  turned  toward  him. 

"  It  is  this,  then,"  she  said  :  "  If  the  decision  is  given  in  your 
favor,  and  the  property  becomes  yours,  "will  you  not  retain  Basil 
in  his  present  position  ?  I  should  not  make  such  an  appeal  if  he 
were  not  the  most  honest  and  faithful  of  men,  or — or,  if  you  had 
not  showed  so  generous  a  disposition." 

"Do  not  let  us  discuss  such  a  jDossibility  !  "  he  said,  impetu- 
ously ;  "  I  cannot  bear,  I  will  not  bear  to  think  of  despoiling  you 
of  your  inheritance  !  There  must  be  some  means — "  He  rose 
suddenly,  very  much  to  her  astonishment,  and  walked  away.  In 
truth,  he  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  doing.  A  most  unusual 
agitation  seemed  to  possess  him — an  agitation  which  he  had 
never  felt  in  the  presence  of  those  women  of  the  world  of  whom 
Mr.  Stringfellow  had  spoken.  Should  he  risk  all  that  he  de- 
sired by  sjDeaking  now  ?  or  should  he  risk  still  more  by  wait- 
ing ?  He  had  to  decide  this,  and  besides  to  take  into  considera- 
tion all  the  danger  connected  with  excitement.  As  he  stood  by 
the  window  debating  these  questions,  he  did  not  perceive  that, 
after  a  minute's  hesitation,  Mary  rose  and  came  to  hin:!.  He  did 
not  hear  her  light  footstep  on  the  thick  carpet,  nor  was  he  aware 
of  her  presence  at  his  side  until  she  spoke. 

"You  are  considering  me,"  she  said,  with  the  frankest  sim- 
plicity. "  Pray  do  not !  In  any  case  I  shall  not  suffer,  ^^ou"  may 
be  sure  of  that.  But  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  Basil.  He  did 
so  much  for  papa,  and  he  has  done  so  much  for  me." 

In  her  pleading,  she  involuntarily  extended  her  hand  and  laid 
it  on  his  arm.     The  opportunity  which  he  desired  seemed  to 


218  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

come  to  Devereux  without  his  seeking.  He  took  that  hand  in 
his  own — took  it  not  passionately,  as  a  lover  might  have  taken 
it,  but  with  almost  hesitating  gentleness.  To  him,  as  to  Basil 
and  Madeleine,  there  seemed  a  sacredness  about  Mary  Carlisle. 

"  It  is  not  worth  while  to  speak  of  these  things,"  he  said. 
"  There  is  no  certainty  that  the  decision  of  the  court  will  be  in 
my  favor.  You  know  how  anxious  I  have  been  to  compromise 
my  claim,  and  how  persistently  your  friends  have  refused  to 
entertain  such  an  idea — but — but  has  it  never  occurred  to  you 
that  there  might  be  one  mode  of  compromise  in  which  your 
agent  and  your  lawyer  would  have  no  voice,  which  would  rest 
altogether  with  yourself — a  compromise  which  would  make  it 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  us  in  v/hose  favor  the  court  gave  its 
decision  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  the  utmost  quietness  to  which  he  could  modu- 
late his  voice,  fully  mindful  of  the  danger  of  exciting  her,  yet 
he  felt  a  throb  of  keen  anxiety  when  he  saw  the  start  which  she 
gave,  the  quiver  which  ran  over  her  from  head  to  foot,  and  he 
was  haunted  afterward  by  the  inexpressible  mingling  of  wist- 
fulness  and  doubt  on  the  face  turned  toward  him. 

"  ^\Tiat  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  faltered.  "  I  do  not  think  I 
quite  understand — " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  excite  yourself  ! "  he  said,  hur- 
riedly. "  I  mean  only  this,  that,  if  you  could  think  of  such  a  thing 
as  marrying  me,  the  whole  matter  would  be  settled.  God  knows 
I  have  very  little  to  offer  you,"  he  said,  with  a  tone  of  genuine 
humility  in  his  voice,  "  and  I  am  aware  that  you  know  very  little 
of  me,  and  that  this  may  seem  to  you  very  presumptuous ;  but 
still,  if  you  would  consider — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly  as  she  retreated  from  him  with  a  low 
cry,  clasping  her  hands  with  a  sudden  motion  over  her  heart. 
The  gesture  dismaj-ed  him.     What  had  he  done  ? 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  if  you  allow  what  I  have  said 
to  agitate  you  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  only  ask  you  to  take  such 
a  thing  into  consideration,  not  to  decide  on  it  now.  If  you  can 
only  tell  me  that  you  will  think  of  it — " 


THE   EVE   OF   BATTLE.  219 

"  But  why  should  I  tell  you  so  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  tone  of 
keen  pain,  as  he  paused.  "  Why  should  I  think  of  it  ?  You  only 
propose  it  because  you  are  sorry  for  me ;  because  you  believe 
that  I  shall  be  poor ! " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  I  would  not  insult 
you  by  such  a  proposal  if  I  had  no  better  reason  for  it  than 
that.  Besides,  there  is  no  certainty  that  you  will  lose  any 
thing.  It  may  be  I  who  will  lose  every  thing,  and  then,  be 
branded  perhaps,  as  a  fortune-hunter.  But  do  not  let  us  talk  of 
interest,  let  us  put  that  aside.  In  speaking  as  I  have  done,  I 
think  of  you,  not  of  that  which  is  at  issue  between  us.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  charmed  I  was  when  I  saw  you  first,  and  that  im- 
pression has  never  left  me.  I  do  not  expect  you  to  feel  toward 
me  in  the  same  manner ;  I  only  ask  you  to  let  me  try  to  win 
your  heart,  and  to  take  into  consideration  the  thought  of  marry- 
ing me.     Will  you  do  this  ?  " 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute,  a  troubled  expression  on  her 
face,  her  fingers  lacing  and  unlacing  nervously.  Then  without 
a  word  she  turned  awav  and  went  back  to  the  fire.  Devereux 
followed,  and  when  she  sank  into  her  seat  took  one  of  the 
slender,  trembling  hands  and  tenderly  kissed  it. 

"  Do  not  trouble  or  disquiet  yourself  to  answer  me  now,"  he 
said.  "  I  can  wait.  All  that  I  ask  is  that  you  will  sufier  me  to 
plead  my  cause  when  j'ou  are  able  to  hear  me." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     EVE     OF     BATTLE. 

When  Devereux  left  the  Lodge  he  felt  that  he  had  gained  a 
great  deal,  and  had  every  reason  to  hope  for  final  success. 
Mary  had  promised  to  take  his  proposal  into  consideration,  and 
the  manner  of  this  promise  had  been  more  than  its  matter.  He 
felt  satisfied  that  he  was  acting  with  wisdom  and  discretion,  and 


220  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR 

he  had  been  more  than  ever  attracted  and  pleased  by  the  gentle 
sweetness  of  the  girl  he  hoped  to  win.  It  would  not  matter 
now  in  whose  favor  the  suit  was  decided,  though  of  course  he 
entertained  a  not  unreasonable  desire  that  the  balance  of  for- 
tune should  be  on  his  side.  Few  men  with  any  genuine  man- 
hood in  them  fancy  the  idea  of  playing  the  part  of  Prince 
Consort,  and  Devereux  fancied  it  even  less  than  most  men,  that 
strain  of  Quixotism  in  his  nature  which  had  brought  him  to 
Stansbury,  and  made  him  Mary  Carlisle's  suitor,  asserting  itself 
on  this  point  with  marked  distinctness.  More  than  once  in  his 
past  life  he  had  allowed  opportunities  of  the  kind,  which  his 
friends  had  esteemed  really  providential,  to  slip  by  unheeded. 

That  there  was  any  danger  of  the  suit  going  otherwise  than 
in  his  favor,  his  friend  Mr.  Stringfellow  would  not  for  a  moment 
admit.  As  they  were  driving  that  afternoon,  on  their  way  to 
visit  Mr.  Burnham,  who  was  so  important  a  witness  in  the  case, 
that  gentleman  expressed  himself  again  with  great  decision. 

"  The  case  will  undoubtedly  go  for  you,"  he  said,  as  they 
passed  the  Carlisle  Mills,  "and  a  very  fine  property  you  will 
come  into ;  I  don't  know  a  finer  anywhere !  And  to  think  of 
that  lease  having  been  laid  aside  and  forgotten  for  so  long  I " 

"  The  property  was  almost  valueless  when  it  was  leased," 
said  Devereux.  "  That  accounts  for  it,  I  suppose,  together  with 
th.e  fact  of  my  mother,  who  was  sole  heiress  of  her  father's  es- 
tate, having  m^arried  and  gone  away.  And  you  think,"  touch- 
ing the  horse  meditatively,  "  that  the  decision  will  certainly  be 
rendered  in  my  favor  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  betting-man,"  said  Mr.  Stringfellow,  "  but  I 
would  take  odds,  fifty  to  one,  on  the  point.  In  fact,  I  am  confi- 
dent of  it,  and  I  si^ncerely  hope  that  old  Burnham  is  as  clear  in 
his  head  as  he  was  when  I  saw  him  eighteen  months  ago.  That 
length  of  time  sometimes  makes  a  great  difference  in  one  of  his 
age — confound  Champion  and  his  miserable  quibbles  and  delays  ! 
He  has  fought  off  the  case  for  two  years,  in  order  that  Burnham 
might  die.     But  Burnham,  luckily  for  us,  is  not  dead." 

"  He  was  very  feeble  when  I  saw  him  three  or  four  weeks 


THE  EVE   OF   LATTLE.  221 

ago,"  said  Devereux.     "  I  don't  know  that  I  would  advise  you 
to  count  too  confidently  on  his  testimony." 

"  Oh,  he  will  be  all  right  when  he  is  wanted,"  said  Mr.  String- 
fellow,  who  was  plainly  bent  on  regarding  every  thing  as  cheer- 
fully  as  possible.  "He  has  the  right  stuff  in  him,  that  old 
fellow  !  I  saw  it  at  once.  He  has  good  stamina  to  his  consti- 
tution, and  doesn't  mean  to  die  while  he  is  needed." 

The  speaker  was,  however,  forced  to  retract  a  good  deal  of 
this  sanguine  view  of  things  when  he  saw  "  Old  Bui-nham," 
who  was  really,  as  Devereux  had  said,  very  feeble.  But  this 
feebleness  related  altogether  to  the  body,  not  at  all  to  his  mind. 
The  clearness  of  his  intellect  was  something  remarkable  when 
one  considered  that  he  was,  as  his  son  proudly  stated,  eighty- 
nine  on  his  last  birthday. 

"  Archie's  right,"  said  the  old  man,  with  some  exultation  in 
his  uncommon  age.  "  If  I  live  to  see  Christmas  I  shall  finish 
ray  ninetieth  year.  I  haven't  such  use  of  my  limbs  as  I  should 
like,  but,  thank  God  !  my  memory's  as  clear  as  ever.  I  remem- 
ber your  grandfather  well  "  (nodding  to  Devereux),  "  and  I  re- 
member all  about  the  lease  you  want  to  prove.  Tom  Shelton 
had  been  renting  the  property  for  some  time  when  General 
Mansfield  gave  him  a  lease  for  fifty  years.  That  was  in  1815. 
I  remember  the  year  as  if  it  were  yesterday." 

"  And  you  remember  seeing  the  contract  of  lease,"  said  Mr, 
Stringfellow  briskly,  "  which  was  signed  by  both  the  lessor  and 
lessee?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  it,"  answered  the  old  man,  nodding  his 
white  head.  "  There  was  a  duplicate  ;  General  Mansfield  kept 
one  and  Shelton  the  other.     I  saw  Shelton's." 

"  I  wish  we  could  see  it,"  said  Mr.  Stringfellow.  "  It  would 
strengthen  our  case  amazingly.  Well,  General  Mansfield  died, 
his  only  child  married  and  went  away,  and  Shelton  after  holding 
the  land  for  twenty-odd  years — long  enough  to  give  a  title  on 
the  strength  of  possession — sold  the  property  and  moved  West." 

"  Just  so,  just  so,"  said  Mr.  Burnham,  tapping  on  the  floor 
with  his  stick,  while  a  small  grandson  stood  by  his  knee  and 


222  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOH. 

gazed,  with  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  at  the  strangers,  at  the  ener- 
getic, rubicund  kiwjer,  and  the  quiet  gentleman  who  watched 
the  scene  with  hizy,  almost  uninterested,  eyes.  "  He  moved 
West,  and  nobody  in  these  parts  has  ever  heard  of  him  from  that 
day  to  this.  I  wasn't  living  here  at  that  time.  I  went  out  to 
Mississippi — which  was  what  you  might  call  real  frontier  country 
then — with  one  of  my  sons,  and  I  never  came  back  till  just  be- 
fore the  war.  The  land  had  passed  through  a  good  many  hands 
in  the  mean  time,  and  at  last  had  come  to  be  owned  by  Mr.  Car- 
lisle. He  was  building  factories  at  a  great  rate,  and  I  never 
thought  of  the  lease  till  I  heard  about  the  lawsuit." 

"And  you  don't  know  anybody  else  in  the  country  round 
here  who  might  remember  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Stringfellow, 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  alone  of  my  generation," 
he  said.  "  I  know  nobody  else.  If  you  had  come  and  asked  me 
the  same  question  ten  years  ago,  I  might  have  given  you  a  dif- 
ferent answer,  but  war  and  trouble  have  killed  off  the  old  men 
very  fast.     I'm  the  last  of  my  generation,  and  I  shall  go  soon." 

"  You  mustn't  think  of  such  a  thing  before  j'ou  have  given 
your  testimony,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  Bless  my  soul !  I  don't  see 
any  reason  why  you  should  die  for  ten  or  fifteen  years  yet — you 
are  hale  and  hearty  !  " 

"  Not  so  much  so  as  you  think,  perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Burnham, 
"  I'm  not  what  you  might  call  sick,  but  I'm  weakly — very  weak- 
ly, of  late.  But  I'll  try  and  get  into  court  to  give  my  testimony. 
Do  you  think  the  case  will  be  tried  next  week  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  will  be,  unless  the  other  side  manage  to  have 
it  put  off  again ;  and  I  don't  think  they  can  do  that,"  replied 
Mr.  Stringfellow.  Then  he  turned  to  the  son — a  stout,  middle- 
aged  farmer  sitting  by.  "  To-day  is  Saturday.  You'd  better 
bring  your  father  into  Stansbury  to-morrow,  had  you  not  ?  "  he 
said.  "  The  case  will  be  called  early  in  the  week,  and  we  had 
better  have  him  on  hand." 

"  That's  what  I  meant  to  do,"  answered  the  j-ounger  Mr. 
Burnham.  "  I've  a  sister  married  in  Stansbury,  and  I  thought 
I'd  take  him  in  to  her  to-morrow  if  it's  a  fine  day.     The  old  man 


THE   EVE   OF  BATTLE.  223 

is  right — he  has  been  giving  way  uncommonly  of  late,"  he  added, 
in  a  lower  tone.  "  If  you  put  off  your  case  again,  I'm  inclined 
to  think  you  won't  have  him  for  a  wdtness." 

"It  shall  not  be  put  off!  "  said  Mr.  Stringfellow. 

"  You  can't  tell  that,"  said  Devereux,  after  they  had  taken 
their  departure  and  were  driving  away;  "  Cliampion  may  suc- 
ceed in  havins:  it  deferred  ao;ain." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  replied  the  other.  "He  has  exhausted 
his  excuses  for  delay,  and  must  come  to  trial.  He  has  showed 
great  ingenuity  in  staving  matters  off  so  loDg,  but  the  tug  of 
war  must  take  place  next  week." 

It  chanced  that  on  this  same  day  Basil  Severn  appeared  in 
]VIr.  Champion's  office,  and,  finding  the  latter  alone,  at  once 
plunged  into  the  subject  of  the  lawsuit. 

"  As  sure  as  you  live  we  have  made  a  mistake ! "  he  said. 
"  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  certain  I  am  that  we  ought  to 
compromise  the  matter.  UiDon  my  word  when  I  think  of  the 
case  coming  off  next  week,  and  of  the  danger  of  Mary's  losing 
almost  every  thing  she  has  by  our  obstinacy,  I  feel  nervous  as  a 
woman ! " 

"I  think  you  must  be  neivous  as  a  woman  to  talk  in  that 
fashion,"  said  Champion,  coollj'",  looking  up  from  his  writing. 
"  I  have  told  you  all  along  that  the  case  will  be  decided  in  our 
favor,  and  I  tell  you  so  again.  If  you  choose  to  sacrifice  Miss 
Carlisle's  property  by  a  compromise,  however,  I  suppose  it  is 
not  yet  too  late  to  do  so.  No  doubt  Mr.  Devereux  and  his  law- 
yer will  grasp  eagerly  at  such  a  proposal — but  you  must  excuse 
me  from  having  any  thing  to  do  with  it." 

"  There  is  old  Burnham  ready  to  swear  every  thing  necessary 
for  making  out  their  case,"  said  Basil,  with  the  most  sincere 
anxiety  and  perturbation  on  his  face. 

"  Old  Burnham  is  in  his  dotage,"  said  Champion,  contemptu- 
ously. "  The  contract  of  lease  which  they  produce  is  invalid. 
That  is  what  I  maintain,  and  what  I  shall  prove.  You  must  of 
course  act  according  to  your  own  judgment,  but,  if  I  were  in 
your  place,  I  would  not  surrender  an  inch.     Compromise  is  the 


224  A  QUESTION  or  nOXOPt. 

very  thing  they  \yant,  and  the  very  thing  at  which  they  are  aim- 
ing with  all  their  blustering  talk.  I  know  Stringfellow  of  old ; 
and  as  for  that  fellow  Devereux — " 

"  You  are  prejudiced  against  him,"  said  Basil.  '*  So  was  I 
at  first,  but  I  think  now  that  he  means  well  on  the  whole." 

"  He  means  to  compromise  his  claim  if  he  can,  and,  failing 
that,  to  marry  Miss  Carlisle,"  said  Champion,  bending  his  black 
brows.  "  A  more  insolent  puppy,  or  fortune-hunter,  never 
lived ! " 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  knew  what  to  do  ! "  said  Basil,  with 
energy.  "  The  responsibilitj'  falls  on  me,  and,  in  case  we  lose  the 
suit,  I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

"  Now  look  here  !  "  said  Champion,  with  decision.  "  That  is 
nonsense.  We  must  all  accept  responsibilities  in  this  world,  do 
the  best  we  can  according  to  our  honest  judgment,  and  leave  the 
rest  to — Providence,"  he  said — thinking  that  form  of  expression 
as  good  as  any  other.  "  If  we  could  realize  Adam's  ambition, 
and  be  as  gods  knowing  good  and  evil,  of  course  it  would  be 
more  convenient ;  but,  that  being  impossible,  we  must  be  pre- 
pared to  make  mistakes  sometimes,  and  bear  the  consequences 
philosophically.  In  my  opinion,  we  shall  not  lose  the  suit — but, 
if  we  do,  I  shall  not  regret  having  advised  you  to  stand  by  your 
colors ! " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't  put  yourself  exactly  in  my  place  when 
you  give  that  advice,"  said  Basil. 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place  I  should  not  need  it,"  replied  the 
other,  dryly. 

There  was  a  little  more  talk  of  this  description,  and  then 
Severn  took  his  departure,  no  whit  easier  in  mind  than  when  he 
came.  He  had  described  his  condition  accurately  when  he 
spoke  of  being  nervous  as  a  woman  over  the  approaching  trial. 
What  was  it  best  to  do  for  Mary's  interest  ?  That  was  the 
question  which  tormented  him.  It  certainly  seemed  too  late  to 
compromise,  now  at  the  eleventh  hour,  yet  more  and  more  his 
judgment  turned  toward  compromise.  Perhaps  he  might  have 
disquieted   himself  less  if  he  had  known  the  result  of  Deve- 


THE  EYE   OF  BATTLE.  225 

reux's  morning  call  at  the  Lodge  ;  or  perhaps  his  disquiet  might 
have  taken  another  form,  and  he  would  have  thought  that 
Mary's  happiness  was  in  greater  jeopardy  than  her  fortune. 

This  certainly  was  Madeleine's  opinion  when  she  heard — as 
she  soon  did — all  that  had  passed  in  the  course  of  Devereux's 
visit.  It  is  not  saying  too  much  to  declare  that  she  was  aghast. 
She  knew  that  it  was  likely  to  occur,  but  she  had  not  looked 
for  it  so  soon — so  suddenly.  A  pang  of  pity  and  indignation 
seized  her  heart.  The  man  rose  before  her  with  all  his  debon- 
naire  grace,  as  she  had  seen  him  last,  smiling  on  Rosalind's  beau- 
ty, and  that  he  should  have  come  immediately  from  that  shrine 
to  oifer  his  empty  heart  and  impoverished  fortunes  to  Mary  Car- 
lisle, seemed  to  her  almost  too  much  to  be  borne.  But  what 
was  to  be  done  ?  Should  she  warn  the  latter  by  declaring  all 
that  she  knew  and  much  more  that  she  suspected,  of  her  suit- 
or's unworthiness  ?  No  one  could  doubt  that  Madeleine  pos- 
sessed moral  courage  in  no  common  degree,  yet  she  shrank  from 
this.  Not  only  because  she  feared,  most  naturally,  that  she 
would  be  speaking  in  vain,  but  because  she  could  not  bear  to 
dash  with  pain  the  happiness  shining  on  the  blind  girl's  face. 
Her  heart  melted  over  this  happiness — which,  indeed,  had  in  it 
many  elements  of  pathos — almost  as  a  mother's  might  have 
done.  So  hopelessly  cut  off  and  debarred  from  all  the  pleas- 
ures of  youth  had  Mary  always  been,  that  it  seemed  little  less 
than  a  miracle  that  this  cup  of  delight  should  at  last  be  held  to 
her  lips.  Could  any  hand  have  dashed  it  away  or  infused  bit- 
terness into  it  ?  Assuredly  not  Madeleine's.  When  the  story 
was  hinted  rather  than  told,  she  put  her  arms  around  the  fal- 
tering speaker  as  if  she  had  been  indeed  her  sister.  "  JVly  dear, 
dear  Mary,  God  bless  you ! "  she  said.  It  was  all  that  she 
could  say — at  least  for  some  time.  But  the  tender  benediction 
was  full  of  sweetness  to  the  listener. 

Unconscious,  meanwhile,  of  the  bold  move  which  her  sworn 
vassal — for  so  she  esteemed  Devereux — had  ventured  to  make, 
Rosalind  was  arranging  all  her  plans  for  the  future  with  great 
satisfaction  to  herself.     She  found  that  possessing  two  strings 


226  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

to  her  bow  was  an  agreeable  excitement,  and  developed  all  her 
diplomatic  talent,  besides  offering  very  substantial  benefits  in 
prospective.  James,  it  is  true,  had  become  very  unmanageable 
of  late,  and  more  than  once  she  had  a  twinge  of  fear  lest  she 
might  have  committed  herself  too  far  with  Devereux ;  but  on 
the  whole  she  had  succeeded  in  keeping  matters  very  well  bal- 
anced between  the  two.  She  entertained  no  doubt  whatever  of 
her  ability  to  manage  the  d^noi'anent  entirely  to  her  satisfac- 
tion. Devereux,  she  felt  sure,  only  waited  for  the  successful 
termination  of  his  lawsuit  to  declare  himself,  while  nothing  was 
easier  than  to  make  Champion  demand  his  freedom — when  she 
was  ready  to  give  it  to  him.  His  patience  had  reached  its  far- 
thest limit,  she  knew — a  little  more  provocation  and  it  would 
end  alto2:ether. 

Qn  this  somewhat  tangled  web  of  different  hopes,  fears,  de- 
sires, and  intentions,  the  sun  of  Saturday  went  down,  and,  as 
Rosalind  watched  the  pageant  of  sunset  from  the  ivy-encircled 
window  where  she  had  seen  Devereux  first,  she  said  to  herself 
"  Another  week  will  end  suspense." 


BOOK  ni. 

WAEF     AND     WOOF. 


CHAPTER    I. 
basil's  mixd  is  relieved. 

We  all  know  how  weeks,  months,  even  years,  often  pass, 
carrying  us  with  them  down  the  stream  of  time,  without  a  sin- 
gle event  of  importance  coming  to  stir  the  placid  current  of 
monotonous  life.  Then,  again,  this  life  seems  suddenly  full  to 
overflowing,  crowded  to  the  brim  with  momentous  occurrences 
— occurrences,  perhaps,  which  revolutionize  all  the  familiar 
world  around  us — and  which  may  put  untold  possibilities  of 
happiness  or  sorrow  into  the  space  of  a  few  days.  There  are 
such  tidal  periods  in  almost  every  existence,  and  something  like 
this  came  to  those  interested  in  the  lawsuit  and  all  that  was 
likely  to  arise  from  it. 

That  next  week  to  which  Rosalind  looked  forward  as  the 
end  of  suspense  came  as  brightly  and  serenely — beautiful  No- 
vember weather,  all  blue  haze  and  mellow  sunshine — as  if  it  had 
been  freighted  with  no  such  important  meaning.  On  Sunday 
Mr.  Burnham  was  brought  in  by  his  son  to  his  married  daugh- 
ter's house,  and  here  Mr.  Stringfellow  found  him  on  Monday 
morning,  when  he  called,  on  his  way  to  court,  to  inquire  into 
his  condition.  That  condition  was  by  no  means  so  satisfactory 
as  it  might  have  been.  The  old  man  was  very  much  shaken  by 
his  unusual  journey,  and  his  daughter  looked  grave  when  she 
admitted  the  lawyer  into  the  room  where  he  lay  in  bed.     "  Fa- 


228  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

ther's  an  old  man  and  not  well  enough  to  be  worried  in  this  kind 
of  waj',"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  strong  disapproval.  "  I  shouldn't 
be  at  all  surprised  if  this  business  would  be  the  means  of  kill- 
ing him.  He  was  excited  and  restless  all  night,  and  this  morn- 
ing he's  as  weak  as  a  baby." 

"  What  on  earth  was  there  to  excite  him  ?  "  demanded  Mr. 
Stringfellow,  in  a  tone  of  great  disgust.  "  All  that  he  is  asked 
to  do  is  to  keep  quiet  and  be  ready  to  go  into  court  and  give 
his  testimony  when  it  is  called  for.  There's  nothing  in  that  to 
make  him  restless,  I'm  sure." 

"  There  wouldn't  be  any  thing  in  it  to  make  you  restless, 
perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Warren,  who  was  known  to  all  her  neighbors 
and  friends  as  being  decided  of  character  and  sharp  of  tongue, 
"  but  it's  been  years  now  since  father's  done  any  thing  but  sit 
in  the  chimney-corner  at  George's  and  smoke;  so  when  you 
come  to  talk  of  such  a  thing  as  lugging  him  into  court — " 

"  I  don't  talk  of  such  a  thing  at  all,  madam,"  said  Mr.  String- 
fellow,  whose  forte  was  not  patience.  "  I  am  not  in  the  habit 
of  lugging  people  into  court.  They  come  when  the  law  sum- 
mons them — and  the  law  has  summoned  your  father.  Now,  I'll 
go  in  and  speak  to  him." 

"  The  less  you  say  the  better,  in  my  023inion,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Warren,  as  she  opened  the  door. 

There  was  not  much  to  say,  and  Mr.  Stringfellow  left  very 
soon,  feeling  a  little  uneasy.  He  did  not  like  old  Burnham's 
appearance,  and  he  said  to  himself  that  the  sooner  the  case 
was  over  and  Iris  testimony  given,  the  better.  That  cumbrous 
machine  w^hich  we  call  the  law  moves  slowly,  however,  and 
there  were  several  cases  on  the  docket  to  be  disposed  of  before 
that  of  Devereux  vis.  Carlisle  could  be  called. 

The  plaintiff  in  this  case,  meantime,  troubled  himself  very 
little  concerning  it.  He  went  daily  to  the  Lodge  without  men- 
tioning again  the  subject  on  which  he  had  touched,  and  devoted 
himself  to  Mary  with  all  the  graceful  gallantry  which  he  had  ac- 
quired during  years  of  social  success.  Of  the  result  it  is  scarcely 
w^orth  while  to  speak.    Madeleine,  looking  on,  saw  plainly  enough 


BASIL'S   MI^-D   IS   RELIEVED.  229 

how  entirely  Mary  was  suiTenderiDg  her  heart,  and  that,  when- 
ever Devereux  chose  to  put  his  fate  to  the  touch,  it  would  be  all 
that  he  could  ask.  Sunday  and  Monday  passed  in  this  manner, 
and  short  as  the  time  was  Mary  seemed  to  expand  like  a  fiower, 
gaining  color  and  fragrance  with  ever}^  hour.  Her  rapid  im- 
provement astonished  every  one  who  saw  her.  Even  Mrs.  In- 
gram— usually  the  most  obtuse  of  mortals — perceived  it,  and  Dr. 
Arthur  fairly  opened  his  eyes  when  he  called.  "  You  have  done 
wonders  for  your  patient.  Miss  Severa,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Madeleine.     "  I  never  saw  her  rally  so  quickly  before." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  had  any  share  in  the  rallying,  doctor," 
replied  Madeleine  ;  but  Mary  impulsivel}''  put  out  her  hand. 

"  You  have !  you  have  ! "  she  said.  "  I  should  never  have  got 
well  but  for  you." 

"  Take  care  that  you  don't  get  sick  again,  then,"  said  the 
doctor.  "Remember — no  excitement!  And  I  think  you  had 
better  begin  to  take  a  little  exercise." 

It  was  on  Devereux's  arm  that  this  exercise  was  first  taken, 
that  afternoon.  With  him  Mary  walked  around  the  lawn  and 
through  the  garden.  Natm-e  was  at  her  loveliest,  her  pensive 
beauty  seemed  to  hold  the  world  in  a  spell,  the  air  was  like  an 
elysium,  the  smoky  haze  wrapped  all  the  distant  landscape  in  a 
blue  dimness.  Devereux,  who  had  a  very  epicurean  element  in 
his  composition,  thought  that  the  soft  autumnal  beauty — beautj' 
without  the  passionate  fervor  of  summer,  or  the  virginal  grace  of 
spring — seemed  in  subtile  harmony  with  his  state  of  feeling,  with 
the  quiet  pleasure  he  experienced  in  Mary's  society,  and  the  re- 
pose of  a  well-satisfied  conscience. 

While  these  two  were  pacing  along  the  garden-walks,  Made- 
leine passed  out  of  the  Lodge  and  took  her  way  down  to  the 
mills.  It  was  a  pleasant  walk  across  the  fields,  and,  if  her  mind 
had  been  a  little  more  at  ease,  she  would  have  enjoyed  it  ex- 
ceedingly. But,  in  her  present  mood,  there  was  a  sadness  in  the 
still  loveliness  of  the  afternoon  which  almost  oppressed  her.  As 
she  paused  for  a  few  minutes  by  a  stile,  and  looked  beyond  the 
brown  fields  and  blue  woods  to  the  distant  horizon,  she  made  a 


230  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

picture  that  a  painter  would  have  liked  to  idealize.  But  there 
was  no  painter  to  catch  the  unconscious  grace  of  the  slender  fig- 
ure, the  unconscious  pathos  of  the  quiet  face — 

"  The  mouth  with  steady  sweetness  set, 
And  eyes  conveying  unaware 
The  distant  hint  of  some  regret 
That  harbored  there." 

Only  Basil,  coming  around  a  curve  of  the  path,  saw  her  and 
suddenly  started. 

"  Madeleine  !  "  he  said,  "  what  odd  chance  brings  you  here  ? 
I  was  just  on  my  way  to  the  Lodge  to  see  you." 

"  Were  you  ?  "  said  Madeleine,  starting  in  turn  at  the  unex- 
pected address.  "  Well,  we  have  met  half-waj^,  for  I  was  coming 
to  the  mills  to  see  yow." 

"  For  any  particular  reason  ?  "  asked  he,  pausing  in  front  of 
her,  with  the  stile  between  them. 

'•  For  no  more  particular  reason  than  I  suppose  was  bringing 
you  to  see  me,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "  Shall  we  walk  ?  or  will 
you  sit  down  here  ?  It  is  very  pleasant,  and  see  what  a  pretty 
bit  of  landscape  is  yonder  ! " 

Basil  looked  at  the  landscape  absently  as  he  accepted  a  seat 
on  the  stile.  There  was  a  shadow  on  his  face  which  Madeleine 
was  quick  to  observe.  She  drew  closer,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm.     "  Something  is  troubling  you,"  she  said ;  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"Only  the  old  story,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  coming  to  talk 
it  over  with  you  once  more." 

"  Do  you  mean  about  the  lawsuit  ?  " 

"  Yes,  about  the  lawsuit.  It  haunts  me  night  and  day  that 
Mary  may  lose  every  thing  because  I  have  listened  to  Champion 
and  been  obstinate  about  a  compromise.  Madeleine,  it  is  not  too 
late  even  yet.  Tell  me  what  you  think.  Shall  I  take  the  re- 
sponsibility of  compromising?  Champion  is  as  strong  as  ever 
against  such  a  step ;  but  it  seems  to  me — " 

He  was  interrupted  here,  much  to  his  surprise,  by  a  low 
laugh  from  Madeleine,  not  a  very  mirthful  laugh,  it  is  true,  yet 


BASIL'S  MIND   IS  RELIEVED.  231 

one  which  had  a  certain  strain  of  amusement  in  it.  "  Excuse 
me,"  she  said,  as  he  looked  at  her.  "  But  j^ou  spoke  of  this 
once  before,  do  yoa  remember  ?  and  have  you  forgotten  what  I 
told  you  then  ?  " 

"  You  said  that  you  thought  there  might  be  no  need  of  a  com- 
promise—  that  you  believed  that  Devereux  wished  to  marry 
Mary.  I  believed  it  too,  at  first,  as  3'ou  may  recollect,  but  of 
late—" 

"  Well,  of  late  ?  " 

"  He  has  seemed  to  think  only  of  flirting  with  Rosalind,  till, 
upon  my  word,  I  believe  that,  if  he  wins  the  suit,  she  will  marry 
him." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  will  have  the  opportunity,"  said  Made- 
leine, quietly  ;  "  and  as  for  you,  dear  Basil,"  she  added,  with  a 
slight  smile,  "  don't  disquiet  yourself  any  more.  Let  the  suit 
end  as  it  may,  Mary's  interest  is  secure,  for  Mr.  Devereux  has 
asked  her  to  marry  him." 

"  Has  he  indeed !  "  said  Basil.  Two  months  before,  he  would 
have  received  such  an  announcement  with  indio-nation  :  now  an 
expression  of  absolute  rehef  came  over  his  face.  *'  Then  the  load 
is  off  my  shoulders,"  he  said,  "  and  a  heavy  one  it  has  been  ever 
since  I  began  to  look  into  the  matter  for  myself!  Up  to  that 
time  I  had  simply  taken  Champion's  word  for  every  thing.  But 
when  Devereux  put  his  view  of  the  matter  before  me,  and  when 
I  examined  registers  and  questioned  old  Burnham,  my  heart 
fairly  sank  into  my  boots." 

"  Then  you  think  the  case  will  certainly  be  decided  in  Mr. 
Devereux's  favor  ?  " 

"  I  am  unable  to  see  how  it  can  possibly  end  otherwise,  though 
Champion  stands  as  firmly  as  ever  by  his  opinion  that  we  shall 
be  successful.  But,  if  Mary  has  accepted  him,  it  hardly  matters 
how  the  ease  goes." 

"  I  did  not  say  that  she  has  accepted  him,  only  that  he  of- 
fered himself.  He  has  not  received  her  answer  yet,  but  there  is 
little  doubt  of  what  it  will  be.  My  poor  Mary !  It  almost  breaks 
my  heart  to  see  her — she  is  so  happy  !  " 


232  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOK. 

"  Wli  J  should  that  break  your  heart  ?  "  asked  Basil,  with  a 
smile.  ''  Surely  hap^jiness  is  a  good  thing — as  well  as  one  of 
the  rarest  things  on  earth — and  Mary  has  never  had  much  of  it." 

"  For  that  reason  I  am  sorry — oh,  sorry  to  absolute  pain — to 
look  at  her  now,"  said  Madeleine.  "Don't  you  understand?  It  is 
nut  as  if  she  had  been  like  other  people,  but  she  has  been  so  cut 
off  from  the  ordinary  lot  of  women,  and  now  for  this  to  come,  and 
for  her  happiness  to  have  no  real  foundation !  O  Basil,  don't 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  said  Basil.  "  You  mean  that  Devereux  is 
not  worthy  of  her.  Granted,  with  all  my  heart — but,  if  my 
opinion  of  the  pending  suit  is  a  right  one,  he  cannot,  at  least,  be 
charged  with  being  a  fortune-hunter." 

"  But  who  knows  that  your  opinion  is  right,"  said  Madeleine, 
"  or  who  knows  how  he  may  betray  Mary's  trust  at  last  ?  I  have 
no  faith  in  him — none  whatever !  " 

"  Take  care  you  don't  run  into  prejudice,"  said  her  brother. 
"  You  gave  me  that  advice  once  on  the  same  subject,  and  now 
I  repeat  it.  Extreme  opinions  are  generally  mistaken  opinions. 
I  think  the  man  is  honest  and  a  gentleman.  Let  him  have 
sought  Mary  for  what  reason  he  may,  honor  will  keep  him 
straight." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Madeleine.  "  It  is  the  best  thing  we  can 
hope,  now." 

After  this  there  was  a  minute's  silence,  which  was  broken 
presently  by  Basil's  saying,  abruptly :  "  I  suppose  it  w^ould  be 
premature  to  mention  any  thing  of  this  in  Stansbury  ?  " 

"  Altogether  premature,"  she  replied.  "  Do  not  mention  it 
to  any  one.  The  aifairis  yet  in  uncertainty.  Mr.  Devereux,  when 
he  declared  himself,  said  that  he  would  not  press  Mary  for  an 
answer.  He  has  not  done  so,  and  perhaps,"  added  Miss  Severn, 
with  unaccustomed  cvnicism,  "if  the  lawsuit  is  decided  in  his 
favor,  he  never  may." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  why  should  you  think  such  a  thing  ?  " 
demanded  Basil,  considerably  startled.  He  was  so  much  in  the 
habit  of  relying  on  Madeleine's  opinion,  that  he  could  scarcely 


BASIL'S   MIXD   IS   RELIEVED.  233 

realize  that  she  might  be  misled  by  prejudice  as  well  as  other 
people.  "  You  must  misjudge  him  !  "  said  the  young  man.  "  No 
one  could  be  so  dishonorable.  He  would  have  to  answer  to  me 
if  he  were — but  vou  must  be  mistaken." 

"  I  may  be,"  said  Madeleine.  "  But  I  cannot  like  or  trust  him. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  trouble  seemed  to  come  when  he  came," 
said  she,  clasping  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  looking  again  toward 
the  misty  horizon. 

"  But  he  is  hardly  accountable  for  that  if  he  did  not  bring,  or 
mean  to  bring  it,"  said  Basil,  to  whom  it  occurred  that  Devereux 
had  nothing  to  do  with  Lacy's  conduct,  or  Miss  Champion's 
heartlessness.  "  Rosalind,  now — he  certainly  had  a  share  in  that 
annoyance  ;  but,  after  all,  was  not  Rosalind  herself  greatly  to 
blame  ?  With  the  best  (or  the  worst)  intentions  in  the  world,  a 
man  cannot  possibly  flirt  with  an  engaged  woman,  unless  she  has 
a  mind  to  flirt  with  him.  " 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Madeleine,  answering  his  remark ;  and 
she  sighed  a  little — one  of  those  sighs  which  indicate,  but  do  not 
relieve,  a  heavy  heart.  "  It  is  easy  to  make  trouble — the  least 
sensible  person  in  the  world  can  do  that — but  how  to  end  it  often 
puzzles  the  wisest." 

"I  don't  count  myself  among  that  class,"  said  Basil,  "but  it 
puzzles  me.  However,  such  things  are  not  helped  by  dwelling 
on  them.  What  will  be  will  be.  After  all,  there  is  no  better 
philosophy  than  that.  Now,  Madeleine,  when  are  you  coming 
home  ?  I  did  not  say  any  thing  as  long  as  Mary  needed  you,  but 
she  does  not  need  you  now,  and  I  miss  you." 

"  I  am  coming  to-morrow,"  said  Madeleine.  "  You  are  right — ■ 
Mary  does  not  need  me  any  longer."  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  added,  "  What  is  Rosalind  doing  ?  " 

"  Going  to  rehearsals,  and  preparing  theatrical  costumes,  as 
far  as  my  knowledge  extends,"  replied  Basil.  "  She  expects  to 
'  rob  the  world  of  rest '  in  a  certain  green  silk,  of  which  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal." 

"  Is  that  theatrical  matter  to  go  on  indefinitely  ?  "  asked 
Madeleine.    "  I  wish  it  were  over." 


^34  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Basil,  rising,  "  and  you  may  be  sure  that, 
wlien  the  phiy  has  been  performed,  it  will  be  over  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  If  it  had  not  been  that  it  would  have  seemed  disoblig- 
ing, and  like  going  back  from  my  word,  I  should  have  followed 
Champion's  example,  and  left  the  business  long  ago." 

"  How  one  reads  the  character  even  in  trifles  !  "  Madeleine 
thought,  as  she  rose,  too,  and  looked  at  the  erect  figure  and  open 
face  before  her.  Rather  than  "go  back,"  as  he  phrased  it,  from 
any  thing  to  which  he  had  pledged  himself,  rather  than  disoblige 
others,  or  be  swayed  solely  by  considerations  of  self,  there  were 
few  sacrifices  Basil  would  not  make.  That  he  had  made  no  small 
sacrifice  in  this  instance,  she  knew  well.  A  constraint  about  the 
mouth,  a  pained  look  in  the  eyes,  told  her  all  he  had  sufi"ered,  and 
was  suffering  yet. 

After  a  few  more  words  they  parted,  Madeleine  going  back 
to  the  Lodge,  Basil  returning  to  his  counting-house,  and  pres- 
ently— when  the  day's  work  was  over — mounting  Roland  and 
returning  home.  The  intelligence  which  he  had  heard  regarding 
Mary  bore  him  company  all  the  way  ;  indeed,  it  had  not  left  his 
mind  since  Madeleine  had  told  him  of  it.  Ever  since  then,  he 
had  felt  a  sense  of  relief  from  responsibility,  and  yet  a  distinct 
consciousness  of  impending  trouble,  doubt,  difficulty.  This  was 
not  altogether  on  Miss  Carlisle's  account.  He  would  have  been 
somethins:  more  than  man  if  he  had  not  also  considered  the 
matter  in  a  personal  light.  What  change  it  would  make  in  his 
fortunes,  he  could  only  dimly  forebode,  but  that  such  a  change 
might  be  great,  he  could  easily  imagine.  On  this  point,  how- 
ever, he  would  not  allow  his  mind  to  dwell — at  least,  he  en- 
deavored to  prevent  it  from  doing  so.  "  Sufficient  unto  the 
day  is  the  evil  thereof!"  he  said  to  himself — falling  on  that 
well-worn  proverbial  currency  which  serves  us  all  in  time  of 
need. 

When  he  reached  home,  dusk  had  fallen,  the  atmosphere  ha^ 
grown  slightly  chill,  and  a  fire  shone  out  cheerfully  from  the 
sitting-room,  across  the  hall  and  portico,  when  he  approached  the 
house.     What  a  friendly,  welcoming  beacon  such  a  light  is,  and 


BASIL'S   MIND   IS   RELIEVED.  235 

with  what  eloquence  it  speaks  of  rest  and  comfort,  and  all  tlie 
pleasures  of  home !  It  was  no  wonder  that  it  drew  Basil  like  a 
magnet,  yet,  when  he  entered  the  room,  he  was  sorry  for  haying 
yielded  to  the  attraction,  for,  before  the  fire  sat  Rosalind,  with  a 
flush  on  her  fair  cheeks  deeper  than  could  have  been  caused  by 
the  leaping  blaze,  while  Champion  stood  on  one  end  of  the 
hearth-rug,  resting  his  arm  on  the  corner  of  the  mantel-piece, 
with  an  expression  of  settled  determination  on  his  grave,  dark 
face.  Basil  felt  a  sensation  of  storm  in  the  atmosphere,  and  was, 
therefore,  uncomfortably  conscious  of  being  de  trop^  but  he 
avoided  an  abrupt  retreat — that  sure  resource  of  awkwardness 
— and  made  the  best  of  matters  by  coming  forward. 

"  Good-evening,  Champion,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
that  you  have  got  away  from  the  court-house,  and  that  dreary 
office  of  yours  for  a  little  while.  I  hope  you  mean  to  stay  to 
tea  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  must  go  back  to  that  dreary  office,  as 
you  call  it,  in  a  few  minutes,"  answered  Champion.  "  I  have  a 
terrible  press  of  business  on  hand.  But  I  am  glad  to  meet  you — 
I  hope  you  have  set  your  mind  at  rest  about  that  lease.  The 
case  will  probably  be  called  for  trial  on  Thursday,  and  I  am 
more  confident  than  ever  that  the  result  will  be  in  our  favor." 

"  Yes,  my  mind  is  quite  at  rest — I  leave  the  matter  alto- 
gether in  your  hands,"  said  Basil,  smiling  in  a  manner  which  the 
other  did  not  altogether  understand.  Rosalind  looked  up  at  her 
brother  in  surprise.  She  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  his  anxiety  re- 
garding the  lease,  and  had  even  heard  a  hint  or  two  of  compro- 
mise ;  which  had  s^one  far  to  streno-tben  her  belief  that  Devereux 
would  succeed  in  the  end.  Now  to  hear  Basil  speak  like  that, 
something  surely  must  have  happened  to  reassure  him  !  This 
thought,  like  a  flash,  passed  through  her  mind,  even  while  Basil 
went  on  addressing  Champion  :  "  Very  likely  you  are  right,  you 
certainly  ought  to  know  your  trade  better  than  I  do.  At  all 
events,  a  man  can  only  act  as  seems  to  him  best,  and  accept  the 
consequences." 

"  Exactly  what  I  told  you  the  other  day,"  said  Champion. 


23G  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  It  is  better  to  heed  wisdom  late  than  never,"  said  Basil, 
with  the  same  odd  smile.  He  turned,  as  he  spoke,  toward  the 
door.  "  I  must  go  and  change  my  boots,"  he  said.  "  I'll  find 
you,  I  suppose,  when  I  come  back." 

*'  That  depends  entirely  upon  how^  long  it  takes  you  to  change 
your  boots,"  returned  Champion. 

Severn,  who  was  in  the  act  of  leaving  the  room,  did  not  hear, 
or  at  least  did  not  answer  this  remark;  and  after  his  departure 
silence  reigned  for  a  minute ;  the  only  sounds  which  broke  the 
stillness  being  the  subdued  crackling  of  the  fire,  and  the  ticking 
of  a  clock  on  the  mantel.  The  silvery  chime  of  the  latter  struck 
six  before  Champion  spoke,  for  Rosalind  remained  silent. 

"  You  say — or  you  imply — that  I  am  harsh  and  domineer- 
ing," he  said,  and  his  tones,  though  low  and  quiet,  had  a  certain 
vibrating  ring  which  made  them  strike  sharply  on  the  soft  firelit 
stillness.  "  That  may  be  true  enough.  I  do  not  deny  it.  But 
you  knew  my  character  when  you  engaged  yourself  to  me  as 
well  as  you  can  possibly  know  it  now.  You  knew  that  I  dis- 
dained jealousy,  but  that  I  would  not  tolerate  any  lightness  of 
conduct — guch  as  the  world  classes  under  the  head  of  flirtation — 
in  the  woman  I  expected  to  make  my  wife.  I  have  borne  more 
from  you  than  I  ever  expected  to  bear  from  any  woman.  But 
mj''  forbearance  has  reached  its  farthest  limit.  Your  name  is  the 
theme  of  every  idle  tongue  in  Stansbury.  People  say  that  I  am 
merely  held  in  leash  until  you  are  secure  of  your  other  lover. 
Whether  this  be  true  or  not,  the  time  has  come  when  you  must 
choose  between  him  and  me — your  flirtation  or  your  engage- 
ment must  end  !  " 

His  lips  closed  firmly  over  the  last  words,  the  clear,  decided 
voice  ceased,  but  its  echo  still  rang  so  distinctly  in  Rosalind's 
ears  that  she  could  almost  have  affirmed  that  he  continued  re 
peating,  "  Your  flirtation  or  your  engagement  must  end  !  "  It 
will  be  seen  tliat  this  was  exactly  the  issue  wdiich  she  had  de- 
sired and  intended  to  bring  about ;  but  it  came  too  soon,  and 
made  such  a  total  bouleverseinent  of  her  plans,  that  she  was 
thrown  into  horrible  uncertainty  with  regard  to  what  it  was  best 


BASILS   MIND   IS  RELIEVED.  237 

to  do  or  say.  She  really  possessed  a  diplomatic  talent,  however, 
besides  a  profound  conviction  that  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth 
very  much  more  than  even  a  grander  and  more  desirable  bird  in 
the  bush.  She  also  knew^  Devereux's  reputation,  and,  though  she 
did  not  seriously  believe  that  he  was  trifling  with  her,  she  was 
not  blind  to  the  knowledge  that  such  a  thing  might  be.  At  all 
events,  he  had  not  declared  himself,  and  his  fortune  was  not  se- 
cured ;  therefore  it  was  unquestionably  her  best  policy  to  mollify 
and  retain  Champion.  It  did  not  take  her  more  than  a  minute 
to  balance  these  considerations.  Then  she  looked  up,  with  the 
hrelight  shining  on  her  bright  eyes  and  her  lovely  flusbed  face. 

"You  are  unjust  and  unkind,"  she  said,  "more  unjust  and 
more  unkind  than  I  ever  thought  you  would  be  !  And  what  3'ou 
say  insults  me.  I  have  no  flirtation  with  any  one.  If  gossips 
choose  to  talk,  can  J  help  that  ?  But  I  never  fancied  that  you 
would  listen  to  them." 

"  Rosalind,"  said  Champion,  drawing  in  his  breath,  "  how 
can  you  venture  to  say  to  me  that  you  have  no  flirtation  with  any 
one,  after  what  I  have  heard  and  seen  ?  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you  have  not  encouraged  the  attentions  of  that  puppy 
Devereux  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  tell  you  exactly  that,"  answered  Rosalind,  who 
knew  that  matters  were  desperate  ;  that  she  must  throw  truth  to 
the  winds  and  make  out  her  case  as  best  she  could.  "  I  have 
never  encouraged  Mr.  Devereux's  attentions,  never  !  It  was  not 
my  fault  that  we  were  thrown  together  by  the  theatricals.  If 
you  blame  anybody  for  that,  it  must  be  Helen.  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  likes  me  or  not,  but  I  do  know  that  he  has  never 
been  more  attentive  to  me  than  politeness  would  have  required 
him  to  be  to  any  woman  under  the  circumstances.  You  talk  of 
not  being  jealous,  but  if  this  is  not  jealousy — " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Champion,  as  she  paused,  "  it  is 

not  jealousy  but  self-respect,  and  a  determination  not  to  suffer 

you  to  lower  me,  if  you  choose  to  lower  yourself,  by  trifling  with 

a  man  whose  character  is  notorious  as  that  most  contemptible 

of  contemptible  things — a  male  flirt." 

11 


238  A   QUESTION  OF   IIOXOR. 

"  But  I  have  not  trifled  with  him  ! "  cried  Rosalind,  really 
frightened  now  by  the  angry  sternness  of  his  tone.  If  he  leffi 
her  once,  she  knew  that  she  could  never  hope  to  Avhistle  him  back 
again,  and  what  if  Devereux  should  be  only  flirting ! 

Champion  uttered  a  short  laugh.  "  May  I  venture  to  inquire 
what  is  3^our  definition  of  trifling  ?  "  he  said.  "  If  it  does  not 
include  flirtation  patent  to  every  one  on  every  possible  occasion, 
tUe-d-tete  walks  and  drives,  pictures  given — " 

"  Pictures  !  "  gasped  Rosalind.  Her  heart  seemed  to  stand 
still.  Who  had  betrayed  her  ?  It  was  the  last  thing,  she  knew, 
that  Champion  would  forgive.  His  ideas  were  old-fashioned  in 
their  fastidiousness — especially  on  this  point.  She  had  often 
heard  him  say  that  no  woman  should  ever  give  a  likeness  of  her- 
self to  any  man  who  was  not  a  near  relative  or  accepted  lover. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  falteringly.  "  What  pictures 
have  I  given  or  received  ?  " 

"  I  heard  accidentally  of  one,"  he  answered,  speaking  with 
difficulty,  for  it  irked  his  pride  bitterly  to  be  constrained  to  make 
such  complaints  as  these,  "which has  passed  into  Mr.  Devereux's 
possession.  If  this  is  so,  Rosalind,  if  you  have  given  him  a 
proof  of  trust  which  you  never  gave  me — " 

"  I  have  done  nothing  of  the  kind,"  interrupted  Rosalind, 
driven  farther  and  farther  over  the  borders  of  falsehood.  "  I 
had  a  vignette  taken  and  set  in  a  locket,  but  it  was  for  you  " 
(this  was  true  in  a  certain  sense !),  "  and  I  meant  it  for  jouv 
birthday.  I  haven't  it  with  me  now,  or  I  would  show  it  to  you. 
I  lent  it  to  Madeleine,  and  she  took  it  out  to  the  Lodge.  Mr. 
Devereux  may  have  seen  it  there,  but  as  for  its  being  in  his  pos- 
session— " 

"Then  it  is  false? — you  are  sure  that  it  is  false?"  said 
Chtimpion,  watching  her  keenly,  and  enraged  with  circum- 
stances, with  her,  and  with  himself,  that  he  should  be  constrained 
to  doubt  her  for  a  moment. 

"  Sure ! — how  can  I  help  being  sure  ?"  she  asked,  intensely 
conscious  of  the  flush  which  burned  on  her  face.  "  If  you  do 
not  br^lieve  me — " 


DEFEAT   OX    THE   EVE   OF   VICTORY.  239 

But  be  interrupted  her  impetuously.  "  Do  not  say  such  a 
thino-  as  that !  All  would  be  at  an  end  between  us  indeed  if  I 
did  not  believe  you  !  But  people  would  not  originate  such  re- 
ports if — if  you  had  not  given  them  reason  to  do  so." 

"  I  have  been  foolish  and  volatile,  no  doubt,"  she  said,  almost 
meekly.  "But  I  was  always  that,  you  know,  and  one  cannot 
change  one's  character  in  a  day.  You  ought  to  be  more  patient 
w4th  me  ;  you  ought  to  believe  that  I  do  not  mean  any  harm  or 
wrong  to  you  !  " 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  came  toward  him  holding  out  her 
hand,  the  rose-radiance  of  the  firelight  falling  on  the  tints  of 
her  beautiful  face,  the  exquisite  lines  of  her  graceful  figure. 
"  See  !  "  she  said  with  a  smile,  "you  have  been  unkind  and  un- 
just, yet  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me  for  all  the  pain  I  have  thought- 
lessly made  you  suffer." 

Does  any  one  need  to  be  told  how  Champion  answered? 
The  pain  of  which  she  spoke,  the  smouldering  resentment,  the 
angry  pride,  seemed  to  vanish  as  he  clasped  her,  fbr  the  first 
time  in  many  days,  to  his  heart,  and  kissed  the  lips  which  had 
just  uttered  their  first  unequivocal  lie. 


CHAPTER   II. 

DEFEAT    OX   THE    EVE    OF   YICTORT. 

The  next  day  Madeleine  left  the  Lodge,  and  came  back  to 
Stansbury  after  a  month's  absence.  This  was  Wednesday. 
There  was  to  be  a  final  dress-rehearsal  that  night  of  the  im- 
portant play,  and  the  next  night — as  all  the  good  people  of 
Stansbury  were  informed  by  handbills  and  placards — the  long-, 
deferred  performance  would  take  place.  Rosalind  was  very 
much  occupied,  and  her  sister  saw  little  of  her.  In  truth,  that 
young  lady  had  no  desire  to  have  her  wishes  and  intentions 
sounded,  and  she  feared  that  Madeleine  might  attempt  to  do 


240  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

something  of  the  kind.  The  scene  with  Champion  the  evening 
before  had  warned  her  what  a  dangerous  game  she  was  playing, 
but  she  was  still  determined  to  play  it  to  the  end.  The  stakes, 
she  thought,  were  w^orth  a  little  risk.  If  Fortune  would  only  be 
kind,  if  Devereux  would  only  come  into  his  own — w^hat  a  per- 
fect life  stretched  before  her  !  Surely  the  price  she  was  paying 
was  not  too  heavy  for  that. 

While  she  was  considering  these  things,  and  adding  a  few 
last  stitches  to  the  irresistible  green  silk  that  was  destined  to 
dazzle  the  audience  which  would  assemble  to  see  her  play  the 
emotional,  charming  coquette,  of  the  sparkling  comedy  Lacy  had 
translated  and  adapted  from  the  French,  Devereux  was  startled 
by  the  overwhelming  intelligence,  brought  to  him  by  a  tall, 
overgrown  boj'',  who  announced  himself  as  Johnny  Warren,  that 
old  Mr.  Burnham  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  The  young  man 
felt  almost  as  if  he  suffered  a  stroke  of  the  same  kind  himself, 
as  he  listened.  Surely  no  calamity  is  harder  than  to  suffer  de- 
feat on  the  eve  of  an  assured  victory  !  Devereux  did  not  know 
until  that  moment  how  much  he  had  built  on  success,  how  little 
he  had  anticipated  any  thing  else. 

But  the  blow  onlj^  stunned  him  for  a  minute.  Before  the 
boy  ceased  speaking  he  was  altogether  himself  again.  He  wrote 
a  line  to  Mr.  Stringfellow  and  sent  it  to  that  gentleman,  then  he 
accompanied  the  bearer  of  ill-tidings  to  the  house  w^here  the 
old  man  lay — helpless,  speechless,  and  distorted.  Mrs.  Warren 
received  him  like  an  animated  glacier,  and  introduced  him  to 
the  bedside  with  something  which  bore  a  remote  resemblance 
to  grim  triumph.  "  That  is  what  I  said  would  come  to  pass,  and 
it  has  come  !  "  said  she.     "  I  hope  you  are  all  satisfied  now." 

*'Mr.  Devereux  has  reason  to  be  any  thing  but  satisfied," 
said  the  doctor,  who  was  standing  by.  Then  he  turned  to  that 
gentleman  with  an  expression  of  sincere  regret.  "  I  am  heartily 
sorr}^,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  I  could  give  you  any  hope  of  the  pa- 
tient's rallying." 

"  Is  there  no  hope,  then  ?  "  asked  Devereux. 

**  None  whatever.     He  will  never  speak  again." 


DEFEAT   ON   THE   EVE   OF   YICTOKr.  241 

When  Mr.  Stringfellow  arrived — and  lie  came  in  haste — lie 
was  more  than  aghast,  he  was  outraged  by  the  malignancy  of 
fate,  and  by  his  own  culpable  carelessness.  "  I  ought  to  have 
taken  his  testimony  down,  to  be  used  in  case  of  his  death,"  he 
said.  "  But  I  saw  no  reason  to  anticipate  any  thing  so  sudden 
as  this.  I  perceived  on  Monday  that  he  was  giving  way  very 
fast,  but  bless  my  soul !  how  was  I  to  imagine  that  just  on  the 
eve  of  the  trial — x\rnold,  my  poor  fellow,  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself,  but  unluckily  that  won't  help  you." 

"  Don't  worry  over  it !  "  said  Devereux,  for  he  saw  that  the 
other's  distress  was  genuine.  "  It  cannot  be  helped.  Kismet ! 
as  the  Arabs  sslj — it  is  fate  !  You  should  not  blame  yourself  for 
one  small  oversight,  after  all  that  you  have  done.  No  one  cculd 
anticipate  this." 

"  Perhaps  he  may  get  over  the  attack,"  said  Mr.  Stringfellow 
eagerlj^ — but  the  doctor,  to  whom  he  looked  appealingly,  shook 
his  head. 

"No  one  ever  gets  over  the  third  stroke  of  paralysis,"  he 
said.     "  Mr.  Burnham  has  had  the  warnings  before." 

"  But  he  m.ay  rally  enough  to  sign  a  paper  ?  "  persisted  the 
lawyer  desperately. 

"  He  will  never  rally,"  repeated  the  doctor.  "  From  the 
state  in  which  he  now  is,  only  one  change  awaits  him — that  of 
death." 

After  this  decision,  there  was  nothing  for  ]Mr.  Stringfellow 
and  his  client,  but  to  leave  the  Warren  mansion  and  betake 
themselves,  with  what  spirits  they  might,  back  to  their  hotel. 
They  said  very  little  as  they  walked  down  the  street  together. 
Both  knew  that  the  lawsuit  was  virtually  ended,  and  that  the 
Carlisle  Mills,  and  woods,  and  fields,  would  never  pass  into  Dev- 
ereux's  possession — at  least,  not  in  the  manner  on  which  they 
had  so  confidently  reckoned.  That  they  might,  however,  come 
to  liim  in  another  manner,  suddenly  occurred  to  Mr.  Stringfellow 
in  the  midst  of  his  deep  dejection,  like  an  angel's  whisper  of 
comfort. 

"  What  an  excellent  thing  it  is  that  you  arranged  matters 


242  A  QUESTION   OF   fiONOR. 

with  the  heiress  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  For  once  QL.ixotism  is  its 
own  reward  !  My  dear  boy,  I  would  rather  have  lost  every  other 
case  I  have  than  this:  but  since  it  is  to  be  lost — and  that 
througli  no  fault  of  ours,  though  my  carelessness  is  in  a  measure 
to  blame — I  congratulate  you  most  heartily  on  your  prospect  of 
coming  to  your  rights  by  marriage  instead  of  law  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  be  congratulated,"  said  Deve- 
reux  in  an  indifferent  tone.  The  events  of  the  last  hour  had 
changed  the  aspect  of  every  thing  for  him.  He,  too,  had  thought 
of  Mary  Carlisle,  but  the  thought  had  given  him  no  such  com- 
fort as  it  afforded  to  his  friend.  On  the  contrary,  a  sudden  sense 
of  rebellion  against  the  position  in  which  he  had  placed  himself, 
came  over  him.  It  had  been  one  thing  to  be  the  means  of  gen- 
erously caring  for  the  interest  and  shielding  the  life  of  the  blind 
girl  who  had  so  strongly  apjDcaled  to  his  compassion — but  it  was 
quite  another  thing  to  receive  from  her  fortune  and  considera- 
tion, and  to  be  esteemed  by  her  friends  and  the  world  in  general 
a  successful  schemer  and  fortune-hunter.  This  cud  of  bitter 
fancy  he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  when  Mr.  Stringfellow 
spoke,  so  it  will  be  seen  that  he  was  in  no  mood  to  receive  con- 
gratulations suavely. 

He  did  not  go  to  the  Lodge  that  afternoon.  He  felt  that  he 
could  not  do  so.  While  the  taper  of  life  still  burned  dimly  in 
old  Burnham's  breast,  all  did  not  seem  ended.  Perhaps  the 
doctor  might  be  mistaken — perhaps  there  might  be  a  faint  flicker 
of  reviving  consciousness  before  the  light  went  out  into  dark- 
ness. Devereux  knew  that  it  was  absurd  to  hope  for  this,  yet 
he  did  hope  despite  reason,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  not  ap- 
proach Mary  Carlisle  again  until  every  thing  was  settled — one 
way  or  another.  The  case  would  be  called  in  court  to-morrow. 
When  it  was  decided  against  him,  he  would  go  and  tell  her  that 
he  resigned  all  hope  of  winning  her  heart.  If  conscience  whis- 
pered that  perhaps  he  had  already  won  that  heart,  he  closed  his 
ears.  Like  many  a  man  before,  he  was  intent  chiefly  on  saving 
his  own  pride. 

He  spent  the  afternoon — Mr.  Burnham's  stroke  had  occurred 


DEFEAT   ON  THE  EVE   OF  VICTORY.  243 

at  mid-day — in  his  own  room,  smoking  a  great  deal,  reading  a 
little,  thinking  much.  With  all  hope  of  succeeding  in  the  law- 
suit stricken  awaj,  w^hat  prospect  was  before  him  with  his  ruined 
fortunes,  his  idle  habits,  his  luxurious  tastes  ?  He  had  never 
made  a  farthing:  in  his  life — how  was  he  to  beg-in  to  do  so  now  ? 
He  smiled  grimly  as  the  question  occurred  to  him.  No  lily  of 
the  field  ever  bloomed  with  less  knowledge  how  to  toil  than 
this  impoverished,  fine  gentleman.  He  had  good  abilities,  but 
they  were  altogether  neglected  and  untrained,  and  he  knew  the 
world  well  enough  to  be  aware  that  whatever  is  untrained  is 
useless.  A  feeling  of  despondent  hopelessness,  and  a  scorn  of 
himself  and  his  own  life,  rose  within  him,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire 
gazing  into  the  red  embers  dreamily.  "  I  am  a  cumberer  of  the 
ground!"  he  thought.  "Why  do  I  live?  I  do  nothing  for 
mankind,  either  individually  or  collectively — no  human  being 
gains  any  thing  from  my  life,  neither  is  it  necessary  for  any 
one's  comfort  or  happiness.  I  exist  simply  because  I  do  exist — 
that  is  all  that  can  be  said  for  me,  and  I  promise  to  be  very  much 
of  a  burden  to  myself  when  it  becomes  necessary  for  me  to  sup- 
port myself." 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Devereux  was  in  the  habit 
of  reflectino;  on  his  life  and  the  conditions  of  it  in  this  manner. 
Very  likely  he  had  never  done  such  a  thing  before  in  the  course 
of  his  thirty  years.  But  just  now  thought  for  his  future  was 
thrust  upon  him  as  an  imperative  necessity,  and  he  was  in  a 
measure  unstrung  and  rendered  morbid  by  the  abrupt  revulsion 
from  certain  hope  of  success  to  absolute  knowledge  of  failure, 
through  which  he  had  passed.  Those  who  have  ever  suffered 
such  a  blow  know  that,  however  bravely  and  composedly  it  may 
be  borne,  it  seems  for  a  time  to  unhinge  every  thing. 

As  the  afternoon  was  merging  into  twilight,  Mr.  Stringfellow 
made  his  appearance,  and  announced  gloomily  that  old  Burnham 
was  sinking  rapidly.  "  I  have  just  been  to  see  him,"  he  said. 
"  There  is  no  hope  whatever  of  his  lasting  through  the  night. 
As  for  any  thing  like  consciousness  or  speech,  that  is  entirely 
out  of  the  question.     I  never  knew  such  luck  before  !  "  said  the 


244  A   QUESTION  or   HONOR. 

despondent  gentleman,  smking  into  a  chair.  "  The  devil  must 
certainly  have  a  hand  in  it !  Champion  has  accomplished  all 
that  he  has  been  aiming  at,  and  he  will  walk  over  the  course 
triumphantly  to-morrow  ! " 

"  Jf  the  luck  is  unalterable,  we  can  at  least  bear  it  philosoph- 
ically," said  Devereux,  laying  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 
"i\^  quid  niinium,  cupias !  That  has  been  my  motto  ever 
since  I  was  old  enouo-h  to  realize  that  the  worst  enemies  of  a 
man's  comfort  are  his  own  desires.  You  have  said  more  than 
once  that  I  felt  too  little  interest  in  the  fight  you  have  been 
making  for  my  fortune — now  I  wish  that  I  had  felt  even  less, 
and  I  wish  that  you,  my  kind  friend,  had  felt  none  at  alk" 

"  I  don't  wish  any  thing  of  the  kind ! "  replied  Mr.  String- 
fellow,  testily.  "  Confound  such  cold-blooded  philosophy  !  The 
man  who  does  not  desire  any  thing  is  half  dead — and  I  wish  to 
Heaven  you  could  be  roused  to  desire  something  very  strongly  ! 
It  might  be  the  making  of  you ! " 

"  Be  more  charitable  in  your  wishes,"  said  Devereux,  with  a 
slight  laugh.     "  I  consider  myself  very  well  made  already." 

"  If  looks  were  all,  j^ou  are  right  enough,"  returned  the  law- 
yer dryly,  but  with  a  gleam  of  partial  regard  in  his  keen  gray 
eyes.  "  I  hardly  know  how  I  should  manage  to  bear  up  under 
this  blow  at  all,  if  it  were  not  for  your  forethought  with  regard 
to  the  heiress  ! "  he  went  on,  after  a  short  pause — his  mind,  as 
was  natural  enough,  returning  to  Mr.  Burnham's  highly  incon- 
siderate conduct  in  proposing  to  go  out  of  the  world  so  suddenly 
— "but,  all  things  considered,  it  is  certainly  the  most  fortunate 
thing  possible  that  j^ou  should  have  put  matters  on  a  right  foot- 
ing with  her  before  the  result  of  the  suit  was  definitely  known." 

"I  am  not  so  confident-of  its  being  fortunate,"  said  Deve- 
reux, turning  away  and  pacing  the  room — a  cigar  between  his 
teeth,  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat.  "  Every  one  will 
think  that  I  anticipated  losing  the  suit,  and  so  addressed  her 
^vhile  there  was  stiU  apparently  a  chance  for  me.  Now,  if  that 
were  so,  it  would  have  been  such  an  underhanded  trick." 

*'  But  it  was  not  so ! "  interrupted  Mr.  Stringfellow  with  en- 


DEFEAT   ON   THE   EYE   Oi<^   VICTORY.  245 

erg}',  rising  and  standing  with  liis  back  to  tlie  fire,  so  as  to  face 
the  shadowy  figure  moving  to  and  fro.  "  Xo  one  with  any  sense 
could  think  such  a  thing  for  a  moment ;  and  as  for  dwelling  on 
what  prejudiced  fools  might  say — I  should  tell  them  at  once  to 
go  to  the  devil !  You  are  morbid  and  upset — that  is  what  is 
the  matter  with  j^ou,"  pursued  the  gentleman  more  mildly ;  "  and 
no  wonder,  I  am  sure  !  Such  a  blow — coming  so  unexpectedly 
— might  knock  any  one  down.  We'll  talk  no  more  about  it — 
and  try  to  think  as  little  as  possible  !  There's  that  infernal  din  ! " 
— this  complimentary  term  referred  to  the  tea-bell — "  let  us  go 
down,  and  after  tea  we'll  have  some  punch  and  a  game  of  whist 
to  raise  our  spirits.  I  see  Hawley  and  Roberts  here.  They  are 
both  first-rate  players." 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  can't  join  you,"  said  Devereux,  '*but  1 
am  obliged  to  attend  one  of  those  troublesome  rehearsals  to- 
night.    If  ever  I  am  caught  in  such  an  absurdity  again  !  — " 

"  Pshaw !  let  the  rehearsal  go  !  " 

"  And  have  my  non-appearance  and  its  probable  cause  can- 
vassed by  every  gossip  in  Stansbury — I  don't  think  I  am  a  cow- 
ard, but  my  courage  is  not  equal  to  that.  No,  I  must  face  the 
music,  and  take  care  that  no  one  can  say  that  my  heart  is  broken 
by  the  loss  of  ray  last  stake  for  fortune." 

"  Not  the  last,  I  trust,"  said  the  lawj^er,  hastily.  "  You  have 
a  still  better  one  left." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Devereux.  "  Tastes  differ 
greatly." 

Stansbury  was  not  a  very  small  place,  so  old.  Mr.  Burnham's 
illness  made  no  stir,  nor,  indeed,  was  heard  of  outside  the  small 
circle  immediately  interested  in  the  event.  A  rumor  of  it 
reached  Champion  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  however, 
which  he  immediately  took  pains  to  verifj'-,  and  finding  it  quite 
true,  sent  the  following  hastily-scrawled  note  to  Basil : 

"  Set  your  mind  altogether  at  rest.  Old  Burnham  has  had  a 
stroke  of  paralysis.  The  other  side  will  probably  ask  for  a  de- 
lay to-morrow,  and  the  case  will  eventually  end  in  a  nonsuit. 

"  J.  C." 


24:6  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOK. 

It  chanced  that  there  was  some  delay  in  the  delivery  of  this 
missive,  and  Rosalind  was  not  at  home  when  it  was  received. 
She  had  gone  out  immediately  after  tea.  "  I  want  to  call  and 
see  Laura  Gresham,"  she  said — this  was  the  young  lady  who 
took  the  second  part  in  the  comedy — "  before  I  go  to  the  thea- 
tre. Tom  Gresham  can  escort  us  both,  so  you  need  not  trouble 
about  calling,  Basil ;  but,  pray,  be  punctual  at  the  rehearsal." 

Basil  did  not  say,  "  Confound  the  rehearsal !  " — for  which  act 
of  abstinence  he  deserved  a  great  deal  of  credit — but  he  made 
no  haste  in  his  movements,  notwithstanding  this  adjuration.  He 
was  established  in  a  low  chair  before  the  sitting-room  lire,  smok- 
ing, very  much  at  his  ease,  a  short,  black  pipe — to  which  neither 
]\Irs.  Severn  nor  Madeleine  objected — when  Champion's  note 
was  brought.  He  took  in  its  contents  at  a  glance,  then  tossed 
it  into  his  sister's  lap. 

"  Fate  fights  for  us  ! "  he  said.     "  See  there  ! " 

Madeleine  read,  and  was  shocked.  "  How  dreadful ! "  she 
said.  "  You  and  Mr.  Champion  are  glad  that  this  old  man  has 
a  stroke  of  paralysis  !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Basil.  "  We  are  only  glad  that, 
since  he  has  the  stroke,  it  redounds  to  our  advantage.  There  is 
no  harm  in  that." 

"  Ah  !  I  am  not  sure — it  seems  very  heartless  !  Mr.  Cham- 
pion writes  in  an  exulting  tone.  Poor  man  !  I  wonder  if  he 
will  oblige  you  both  by  dj'ing  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Basil,  cheerfully.  "  Unless  it  is  the  third 
stroke,  it  is  not  necessarily  fatal,  you  know.  He  may  recover 
and  live  some  time  longer." 

"  And  give  his  testimony  at  last." 

"  Perhaps  so;  but  I  begin  to  have  faith  in  Champion's  opin- 
ion again.  You  see  he  says  the  case  will  eventually  end  in  a 
nonsuit." 

"  What  is  a  nonsuit  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Severn,  looking  up  from 
the  note  which  Madeleine  had  handed  to  her. 

While  this  matter  was  being  discussed  in  the  Severn  domes- 
tic circle,  Rosalind  was  taking  her  way  to  the  theatre,  in  pro- 


DEFEAT   OX   THE  EVE   OF   VICTORY.  247 

found  unconsciousness  of  the  blow  impending  over  her.  Even  • 
when  she  reached  there  no  one  among  the  assembled  company 
gave  her  any  information  regarding  a  matter  which  (in  her  own 
opinion)  concerned  her  so  vitally.  Devereux  was  rather  late, 
but  presently  he  came,  in  full  evening  dress — so  handsome,  so 
distinguished-looking,  so  easy  in  bearing,  so  graceful  in  manner, 
that  Rosalind's  heart  thrilled  with  admiration  almost  akin  to 
the  tender  passion.  She  knew  that  she  was  looking  beautiful  in 
her  shining  green  silk,  point-lace,  and  emeralds ;  so  she  swept 
across  the  stage  and  tapped  him  on  the  arm  with  her  fan,  after 
the  manner  of  the  French  coquette  she  was  soon  to  enact. 

"  Why  are  you  so  late  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he  turned  toward 
her — he  had  been  speaking  to  Tom  Gresham,  who  now  discreet- 
ly moved  away — "  I  have  been  wondering  what  detained  you, 
and  fearing  that  perhaps  you  meant  to  play  deserter  at  the 
eleventh  hour.  I  know  you  are  tired  of  the  whole  affair,  and, 
honestly,  I  do  not  blame  you ;  but  there  is  no  help  for  it  now  ! 
"What  would  become  of  me  if  I  had  to  act  without  my  chief 
lover  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  challenge  in  her  eyes  which  the 
dullest  man  must  have  read,  and  the  coldest  would  have  been 
likely  to  accept.  Devereux  was  neither  dull  nor  cold,  and  just 
now  he  felt  sufficiently  reckless  of  consequences — sufficiently  in 
need  of  some  moral  stimulant — to  be  willing  to  flirt  to  the  top 
of  her  bent  with  this  enticing  Hebe. 

"  You  need  not  fear  that  I  will  desert  while  I  have  that  part 
to  sustain  !  "  he  answered,  in  that  tone  of  half  jest,  half  earnest, 
which  can  be  rendered  exceedingly  effective  by  one  who  under- 
stands the  art  of  doing  so.  "  If  you  should  depose  me  now, 
I  will  not  answer  for  what  desperate  thing  I  might  do." 

"  I  have  no  idea  that  you  would  be  desperate  under  any  cir- 
cumstances," said  she,  meeting  his  gaze  with  a  thorough  con- 
sciousness of  the  admiration  it  imreservedly  expressed.  "  You 
are  so  completely  a  man  of  the  world — so  cool,  so  quiet !  I 
fancy  you  have  taught  yourself  to  have  no  emotions  which  are 
not  altogether  comfortable  and  agreeable." 


248  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

"  x\nd  you  have  not  learned  better  than  that  in  all  the  weeks 
that  we  have  known  each  other,"  said  he,  with  a  great  deal  of 
meaning  in  his  voice.  "  How  strange  !  I  fancied  that  you 
had  learned  to  know  me  better,  perhaps,  than  I  cared  to  be 
known." 

Now,  this  was  rather  enigmatical,  but  Rosalind,  reading  it 
in  the  light  of  her  own  wishes,  thought  that  it  implied  much 
which  was  agreeable  to  her.  She  was  scarcely  to  blame  for 
this.  Devereux's  voice  sank  (through  force  of  habit)  to  a  very 
tender  cadence — one  which  might  have  misled  even  a  less  sus- 
ceptible listener. 

"  I  should  not  w-ish  to  know  any  thing  which  you  did  not 
care  for  me  to  know,"  she  replied.  "  But  I  have  been  so  frank 
with  you,  and  let  you  see  so  many  of  my  little  absurdities,  that 
you  should  not  regret  any  knowledge  that  I  may  have  gained  of 
your  character." 

"My  character  is  open  for  you  to  read  as  much  as  you 
choose,  or  can,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  feelings,  hopes,  wishes — 
one  likes  to  keep  them  as  much  as  possible  to  one's  self.  That 
is,  it  is  generally  one's  best  wisdom  to  do  so." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Mademoiselle  Circe,  softly.  "  Is  not  sym- 
pathy a  good  thing  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  it  goes,  yes ;  but  it  does  not  go  very  far." 

"  PerhajDS  you  are  mistaken  about  that :  perhaps  it  w^ould 
go  quite  as  far  as  the  feelings,  hopes,  and  wishes,  are  concerned. 

He  glanced  at  her  keenly,  as  she  stood  before  him,  trilling 
with  the  glittering  fan  in  her  hand — beautiful,  self-possessed, 
and  beguiling.  It  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  she  had  anoth- 
er end  than  flirtation  in  view — it  was  borne  to  him  with  a  swift 
sense  of  amazement,  what  manner  of  game  she  was  playing. 
"  She  thinks  me  worth  casting  her  nets  about  in  earnest !  "  he 
said  to  himself.  "  Shall  I  let  her  think  so  a  little  longer  ?  It 
will  be  instructive  to  see  in  what  manner  she  will  take  the 
truth." 

So,  for  the  rest  of  that  evening  Rosalind  was  gratified  by  as 
much  incense  as  one  small  head  could  bear  without  absolute 


DEFEAT   ON  THE  EYE   OF  VICTORY.  249 

giddiness.  Never  had  Devereux  been  more  gallant,  more  atten- 
tive, more  charming.  Thej  acted  their  parts  with  such  grace 
and  spirit — with  so  much  seductive  coquetry  on  one  side  and  so 
much  impassioned  ardor  on  the  other — that  even  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  company  applauded  warmly.  "  If  only  you  will  do 
as  well  to-morrow  night !  "  they  cried. 

"  As  if  there  was  any  danger  we  should  not ! "  said  Rosa- 
lind, scornfuil3\ 

"  To-morrow  night  I  shall  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you  in 
memory  of  our  pleasant  association,"  said  Devereux,  as  he 
wrapped  her  cloak  around  her  after  the  rehearsal.  She  had  re- 
luctantlv  declined  his  attendance,  for  Basil  was  waitino;-  to  take 
her  home. 

"  That  sounds  quite  solemn  and  formidable — like  a  farewell 
speech,  or  something  of  that  kind,"  answered  she,  with  a  peal 
of  laughter  which  might  have  been  empty  if  it  had  not  been  so 
sweet.  "  I  hope  you  do  not  mean  that  our  acquaintance  is  to 
end  as  well  as  our  association  ?  " 

"  That  will  be  for  you  to  say,"  he  answered,  pressing  the 
small  gloved  hand  which  she  held  out  to  him. 

"  There  is  not  much  danger  of  its  doing  so,  then  ;  pleasant 
acquaintances  are  not  so  common  in  Stansbury  that  one  can 
afford  to  give  them  up.     Good-night." 

The  soft  salutation  lingered  on  his  ear,  the  lustrous  eyes 
looked  into  his  own,  then  with  a  rustle  of  drapery,  a  faint  rush 
of  delicate  fragrance,  she  was  gone, 

Devereux  followed  almost  immediatelv,  and  on  the  street 
paused  a  moment  to  light  his  usual  companion — a  cigar.  It 
chanced  that  he  was  standing  under  a  gas-lamp,  so  that  his  face 
was. distinctly  visible,  and  a  negro  boy,  who  was  advancing  lei- 
surely along  the  pavement,  walked  directly  up  to  him  and  pre- 
sented a  scrap  of  folded  paper  with  one  hand,  while  he  touched 
his  cap  with  the  other. 

"  Mr.  Stringfellow  tol'  me  to  give  you  that,  Mr.  Devereux," 
he  said. 

"Is  it  you,  George?"  said  Devereux,  recognizing  a  servant 


250  ^   QUESTION    OF  HONOR. 

from  the  hotel.     He  took  the  paper  and  opened  it.      Within 
three  words  were  penciled — he  read  them  easily  by  the  light 
of  the  street-lamp : 
"  Burnham  is  dead." 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE     Ej!^D     of     the     SUIT. 

FoETUNATELT  for  the  peace  of  Rosalind's  slumbers,  Basil 
said  nothing  of  Mr.  Burnham's  stroke  on  their  way  home.  He 
forgot  that  she  had  not  heard  that  important  intelligence,  and 
for  himself  he  was  thinking  of  something  else.  It  had  pleased 
Miss  Champion  to  be  unusually  gracious  to  him  that  evening, 
and,  like  many  a  lover  before,  his  passion  fed  upon  very  frugal 
cheer  indeed.  He  could  not  know  that  this  graciousness  had 
its  birth  in  vexation  with  Lacj'',  who  had  been  exceedingly 
changed  during  the  last  week.  What  woman,  when  she  has 
been  slighted  by  the  man  she  prefers,  does  not  soothe  her 
wounded  self-love  by  encouraging  another,  if  possible,  before 
his  eves  ?  And  what  man  is  so  wise  that  he  has  not,  at  some 
period  of  his  life,  suffered  himself  to  be  tormented  by  the  ca- 
price of  a  coquette  ?  Miss  Champion  was  a  blunderer  in  the 
art  which  she  attempted  to  practise — she  understood  none  of 
those  fine  shades  of  reserve  and  evasion  which  heighten  coquetry 
as  a  veil  adds  to  beauty — and  when  she  encouraged  at  all  she  did 
so  with  the  most  unmistakable  emphasis.  If  any  one  wonders 
why  Basil  Severn  should  have  fancied  such  a  woman,  it  is  only 
possible  to  answer  in  Byron's  not  very  complimentary  words  : 

..."  Curious  fool,  be  still ! 
Is  human  love  the  growth  of  human  will  ?  " 

Is  it  not  rather  the  growth  of  human  circumstances,  of  illu- 
sion, of  association,  of  Heaven  only  knows  what,  a  very  mid- 
summer madness  often,  to  which  the  cured  subject  afterward 
looks  back  in  disgusted  amazement  ? 


THE   END   OF  THE  SUIT.  251 

But  wbo  believes  this  when  the  madness  has  drugged  the 
mind,  and  filled  the  veins  like  fever  ?  "  To  be  wise  and  love 
exceeds  man's  strength,"  said  he  of  the  golden  tongue  three 
hundred  years  ago,  and  men  have  not  increased  in  wisdom  since 
Shakespeare's  day.  Basil  was  a  shade  more  sensible  than  his 
fellows,  inasmuch  as  he  knew  himself,  in  plain  language,  to  be  a 
fool ;  but  the  knowledge  did  not  make  him  resolute  to  break 
his  chains.  His  folly  could  hurt  no  one  but  himself,  he  thought, 
a  little  doggedly  ;  and  so  he  sat  (metaphorically)  at  the  feet 
of  his  dark-eyed  enchantress,  and  listened  to  the  frivolous 
words  which  dropped  from  her  lips  as  if  she  had  been,  indeed, 
the  siren  that  Lacy  called  her. 

As  for  Lacy,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  was  heartily 
sick  of  the  echo  of  his  own  absurd  verses.  It  had  seemed  a 
very  slight  thing  to  go  from  the  presence  of  a  pretty  woman, 
with  the  whirl  of  champagne  in  his  head,  and,  sitting  down  at 
midnight,  dash  off  an  hnpromptu  bit  of  rhymed  flattery,  over 
each  line  of  which  he  had  smiled  in  a  manner  that  would  not 
have  gratified  Miss  Champion  if  she  had  seen  him.  But  it  was 
not  a  slight  thing  to  one  so  sensitive  to  the  least  breath  of 
ridicule,  and  who  held  so  superciliously  aloof  from  Stansbury 
notoriety  or  praise,  for  these  verses — which,  to  himself  he  said 
contemptuously,  did  not  merit  the  name  of  poetry — to  be  can- 
vassed on  the  street-corners,  and  discussed  in  drawing-rooms. 
People  had  scarcely  noticed  his  most  artistic  efi'orts  when  they 
came  forth  in  print — his  personal  unpopularity  having  nearly,  if 
not  quite,  balanced  the  pride  of  possessing  a  "  poet "  in  their 
midst.  But  when  he  began  to  write  vers  de  soci^ti,  and  ad- 
dressed the  first  of  these  effusions  to  Helen  Champion,  there 
was  a  flutter  in  many  dovecotes.  "  Oh,  if  he  would  only  write 
something  to  me  1 "  sighed  more  than  one  young  lady  in  the 
bosom  of  her  family  ;  but  men  chiefly  laughed.  "  Lacy  is  not 
too  much  of  a  poet  to  have  an  eye  to  substantial  charms,"  they 
said.  "  La  Belle  Odalisque — what  the  deuce  does  that  term 
mean,  by-the-by  ? — has  bright  dollars  as  well  as  bright  eyes." 

But  when,  in  addition  to  this  unpleasantness,  Lacy  found 


252  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

that  Madeleine  was  roused  out  of  her  gentle  forbearance  even 
to  the  point  of  offering  him  his  freedom,  he  began  to  consider 
that  amusement  and  folly  had  gone  too  far.  He  had  not  the 
least  desire  to  give  up  his  engagement.  Moments  of  petulant 
doubt  and  depression  came  to  him  with  regard  to  Madeleine,  as 
with  regard  to  everybody  and  every  thing  else;  but,  these 
apart,  she  was  still  to  him  the  supreme  good  of  his  life — the 
star  shining  above  all  his  clouds  with  steady,  serene  lustre.  He 
felt  dimly  that  the  deteriorating  change  at  work  within  him 
must  go  farther  yet,  that  he  must  sink  immeasurabl}''  below  his 
present  level,  before  he  could  willingly  suffer  her  to  pass  out  of 
his  life.  So,  in  an  impulsive  fashion  common  with  him,  he 
ceased  to  offer  homage  at  Miss  Champion's  shrine  as  abruptly  as 
he  had  begun  to  do  so  ;  and,  disgusted  alike  with  her  and  with 
himself,  lapsed  into  his  normal  condition  of  social  unpleasant- 
ness. The  revenge  she  took  was  one  not  calculated  to  affect 
him  deeply.  If  Basil  Severn  could  have  been  multiplied  tw^en- 
ty  times,  she  might  have  flirted  desperately  with  each  one  of 
the  twenty  without  wakening  a  thrill  of  jealousy  in  Lacy's 
breast.  He  was  profoundly  and  unaffectedly  indifferent,  and, 
recognizing  this,  Miss  Champion  went  home  on  the  night  of 
the  dress-rehearsal  in  a  very  bad  humor  indeed. 

The  next  morning  Basil  announced  at  breakfast  his  intention 
of  going  to  the  court-house.  "  I  understand  that  old  Burnham 
died  last  night,"  he  said,  breaking  an  egg,  "  and  I  am  anxious  to 
hear  what  Stringfellow  will  have  to  say." 

There  was  a  sharp  clang  on  the  other  side  of  the  table.  Rosa- 
lind, who  had  entered  a  few  minutes  before,  dropped  her  spoon 
unheeded  into  her  coffee-cup.  She  looked  at  her  brother  in  con- 
sternation, the  color  dying  out  of  her  face. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  after  a  second's  pause. 
"TFAois  dead?" 

"  Old  Burnham — Giles  Burnham,"  her  brother  replied.  "  The 
principal  witness,  indeed,  I  think  the  only  witness,  on  whom 
Devereux's  lawyer  relied  to  make  out  his  case." 

"  So  he  is  dead — poor  man ! "  said  Mrs.  Severn,  in  a  tone  of 


THE   END   OF  THE   SUIT.  .  253 

kind  compassion.  "  But,  then,  he  must  have  been  quite  old — 
ninety,  at  least,  I  should  think.  One  must  expect  to  die  when 
one  reaches  that  age.  I  forgot  that  you  were  not  here  last 
night,  Rosalind,  when  Basil  received  a  note  from  Mr.  Champion, 
tellino-  him  that  the  old  man  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis,"  she  went 
on,  addressing  her  daughter.  "  He  wrote  as  if  it  quite  ended 
the  case.  Indeed,  I  believe  he  said  that  you  might  dismiss  all 
anxiety — did  he  no^  Basil  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  did,"  answered  Basil,  composedly  mixing  salt 
and  pepper  in  his  egg. 

Rosalind  was  speechless.  Only  Madeleine,  sending  one  swift, 
penetrating  glance  to  her  face,  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
pallor  which  had  come  over  it,  of  the  choking  motion  in  the  round 
white  throat.  When  the  girl  spoke,  her  voice  sounded  hard  and 
not  like  her  own. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  last  night?"  she  asked,  ad- 
dressing Basil.  "  You  might  have  supposed  I  felt  some  interest 
— if  it  was  important." 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  never  thought  of  it,"  he  answered,  look- 
ing up  in  some  surprise.  "  It  did  not  concern  you  at  all — I  had 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  you  felt  much  interest." 

What  could  Rosalind  say  ?  Not  concern  her !  It  seemed 
incredible  that  any  one  should  beheve  such  a  thing  ;  that  they 
should  not  hiow  how  it  concerned  her !  She  tried  to  go  on 
with  her  breakfast  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  but  there  was 
a  sound  as  of  many  waters  in  her  ears.  The  blow  stunned 
her  almost  more  than  it  had  stunned  Devereux  the  day  before. 
He  had  realized  it,  and  rallied  from  it ;  but  to  her  it  appeared 
like  a  hideous  nightmare,  something  too  dreadful,  too  overwhelm- 
ing to  be  true  ! 

After  a  while  she  recovered  sufSciently  to  be  able  to  trust 
her  voice  to  speak.  "  Does  this  end — every  thing  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Will  the  case  go  against  Mr.  Devereux,  now  ?  " 

"  Champion  says  that  it  will,"  her  brother  replied.  "He  is  a 
lawyer,  and  ought  to  know.  I  suppose  Stringfellow  will  still 
make  some  sort  of  a  fight,  however." 


264:  A  QUESTION   OF  HOXOU. 

*'  And  you  think  it  honest  to  take  advantage  of — of  such  a 
thing?"  said  Rosalind,  in  a  tone  which  trembled  despite  all  her 
efforts  at  self-control.  "  What  is  it  but  a  mere  accident  ? — and 
you  know  what  the  witness  would  have  testified  if  he  had  gone 
into  court ! " 

"  But  we  don't  know  what  would  have  been  the  result  of  his 
testimony,"  said  Basil.  "Wlien  people  go  to  law,  they  must 
make  out  their  case  to  the  satisfaction  of  th6  court,  or  else  suf- 
fer defeat.  One  yields  no  chivalrous  advantage  to  one's  adver- 
sary. If  we  had  killed  old  Burnham  to  put  him  out  of  the  way, 
that  would  have  been  decidedly  unfair,  but,  since  he  has  died  a 
natural  death,  we  are  not  accountable  for  the  loss  of  his  testi- 
mony— and  certainly  we  cannot  pretend  to  be  sorry." 

'•  It  looks  quite  like  the  finger  of  Providence,"  said  Mrs.  Sev- 
ern, piously. 

"  People  always  believe  that  Providence  is  on  their  side !  " 
cried  Rosalind,  stung  beyond  endurance.  "  But,  for  my  part, 
I  am  like  Napoleon.  He  said  that  it  was  on  the  side  of  the 
heavy  artillery.  I  think  that  it  is  on  the  side  of  heavy  money- 
bags." 

"  My  dear  !  "  said  her  mother.  "  You  don't  remember  what 
you  are  saying  !  " 

"  Champion  would  be  touched  if  he  knew  how  deep  an  in- 
terest Rosalind  takes  in  the  success  of  the  case  for  which  he 
has  labored  so  long  and  so  faithfully,"  said  Basil,  rising  from 
table. 

This  recalled  Rosalind  to  a  sense  of  her  imprudence.  The 
chord  of  self  was  touched,  which,  instead  of  passing  in  music 
out  of  sight,  returned  a  decided  warning.  She  said  nothing 
more,  but,  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  she  went  to  her  own 
.room,  and  shut  herself  in  with  her  bitter  disappointment. 

How  bitter  this  disappointment  was,  it  is  hardly  possible  to 
express.  Last  night  she  had  been  so  certain  of  accomplishing 
all  she  desired,  that  the  revulsion  now  seemed  almost  more  than 
she  could  bear !  To  be  coolly  told  that  hope  was  over,  and  that 
the  loss  of  it  did  not  concern  her  I     She  wrung  her  hands  to- 


THE  EXD   OF  THE   SUIT.  255 

g-ether  with  a  passionate  sense  of  impotent  despair.  Devereux's 
words,  looks,  and  tones,  came  back  to  her,  together  with  all  the 
dreams  she  had  built  on  them.  Was  it  not  enough  to  break 
her  heart,  she  said  to  herself,  that  not  one  of  these  dreams 
would  ever  be  realized  ;  that  all  the  gay,  sumptuous,  delightful 
life  she  had  planned  receded  away  forever,  and  left  her  with  no 
alternative  but  that  of  marrying  James  Champion  ! 

The  gentleman  who  plaj^ed  the  part  of  pis  alley-  in  this  grati- 
fying fashion  was,  meanwhile,  indulging  a  restrained  but  very 
positive  triumph  over  the  discomfiture  of  his  adversary.  If  he 
did  not  exactly  affirm,  like  ]\Irs.  Severn,  that  the  finger  of  Provi- 
dence was  in  old  Burnham's  death,  he  felt  something  equivalent 
to  that,  and,  when  Basil  appeared  in  his  office,  he  met  him  with 
a  congratulatory  shake  of  the  hand.  "  I  told  you  every  thing 
would  come  right !  "  he  said. 

It  is,  perhaps,  superfluous  to  remark  that  the  same  event, 
regarded  from  different  points  of  view,  often  presents  a  totally 
different  aspect.  It  was  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  state 
of  affairs  which  seemed  altogether  right  to  Mr.  Champion  ap- 
peared wholly  and  depressingly  wrong  to  Mr.  Stringfellow  and 
his  client.  They  bore  a  brave  front  before  the  little  world  of 
gossif)  around  them,  but  to  each  other  they  showed  plainly  the 
despondency  which  possessed  them.  "I  might  as  well  end  the 
matter  at  once,"  said  the  lawyer,  mournfully.  "  There  is  no  good 
in  prolonging  the  suit.  It  will  only  increase  the  costs,  which 
are  heavy  enough  now.  We  have  not  the  remotest  chance  of 
ever  establishing  the  claim." 

"  End  it,  by  all  means,"  replied  Devereux.  "  I  supposed,  of 
course,  that  you  intended  to  do  so." 

When  the  case  was  called  in  court  an  hour  later,  Mr.  Strinoc- 
fellow  rose,  therefore,  and  stated  that  he  was  not  ready  for  trial, 
owing  to  the  sudden  and  wholly  unexpected  death  of  the  only 
witness  to  the  contract  of  lease,  by  whose  testimony  he  expected 
to  make  out  his  case.  Then  he  paused,  cleared  his  throat,  and 
fumbled  for  a  moment  nervously  with  some  papers  on  the  table 
before  him.     Champion  shot  an  exulting  glance  at  Basil :  the 


256  A  QUESTION  OF  HO^OR. 

other  lawj-ers  looked  up  curiously.  Old  Burnbani's  dramatic 
death,  just  at  the  time  his  evidence  was  needed,  had  given  the 
case  an  interest  which  it  had  not  before  possessed  to  the  legal 
mind.  They  wondered  if  Stringfellow  meant  to  ask  that  the 
trial  of  the  case  be  delayed,  in  order  that  he  might  endeavor  to 
collect  other  proofs.  Stringfellow  had  no  such  intention,  and, 
while  they  wondered,  he  addressed  the  court  again,  stating  that 
he  never  expected  to  be  ready  for  trial,  since  there  was  no  other 
evidence  he  could  procure  in  order  to  establish  the  validity  of 
the  lease.  This  ended  suspense,  the  court  directed  a  judgment 
of  nonsuit  to  be  entered,  the  next  case  on  the  docket  was 
called,  and  the  lawsuit  which,  for  two  years,  had  cost  Basil 
Severn  so  much  anxiety  and  Champion  so  m  uch  labor,  was  finally 
terminated. 

Absolute  certainty  on  the  point  having  been  attained,  Deve- 
reux  felt  that  he  must  go  to  the  Lodge.  The  manner  in  which 
he  shrank  from  this  step  was  probably  natural  enough,  and,  since 
excuses  for  procrastination  are  never  lacking  when  procrastina- 
tion presents  itself  in  the  light  of  a  desirable  thing,  he  decided 
to  wait  until  afternoon  in  order  that  Miss  Carlisle  might  hear 
the  news  of  her  good  fortune  before  he  presented  himself.  "  Of 
course  Severn  will  take  it  to  her  at  once,"  he  thouo-ht. 

He  was  right.  Basil  left  the  court-house  as  soon  as  the  de- 
cision of  the  court  was  given,  and,  with  the  light  of  victory  on 
his  face,  went  home.  When  he  entered  the  sitting-room,  he 
found  Lacy  with  Madeleine.  The  latter  sprang  up  at  sight 
of  him,  and,  before  he  could  utter  a  word,  her  arms  were  round 
his  neck, 

"  I  see  ! "  she  cried.  "  The  decision  is  in  Mary's  favor — and 
I  am  so  glad  for  your  sake  !  She  does  not  care,  but  I  am  glad — oh, 
very  glad — that  you  have  kept  the  trust  Mr.  Carlisle  gave  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  right,"  said  Basil,  as  plainly  as  a  man  could 
iSpeak  who  was  in  process  of  being  choked.  "And  I  am  glad, 
too,  though  none  of  the  credit  belongs  to  me.  The  case  has 
ended  in  a  nonsuit,  as  Champion  predicted.  I  must  go  at  onc<3 
and  let  Mary  know." 


MARY'S  ANSWER.  257 

"  Accept  my  warmest  congratulations  !  "  said  Lacy,  offering 
his  hand  as  Madeleine  drew  back.  "  You  have  had  micommon 
luck.  What  a  fortunate  thing  it  is  that  you  were  so  firm  in  your 
refusal  to  compromise  !  " 

"  Champion  deserves  the  credit  for  that,  also,"  said  Basil, 
laughing,  as  he  crossed  the  floor  and  rang  the  bell.  "'  Tell  Dick 
to  bring  out  my  horse  immediately,"  he  said,  when  Ann  an- 
swered it. 

Sitting  forlorn  and  disconsolate  at  her  chamber- window, 
Rosalind  saw  him  mount  and  ride  away,  and  she  knew  instinc- 
tively on  what  errand  he  was  bound.  His  face  was  offensively 
bright,  his  manner  offensively  triumphan-t,  she  thought.  "  After 
all,  it  was  only  an  accident ! "  she  said  to  herself,  and  then  hot 
tears  rose  again  in  her  eyes.  Only  an  accident !  and  it  had 
altered  the  whole  course  and  meaning  of  her  life ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 


maey's  axswee. 


"  That  will  do,  Jessie,"  said  Miss  Carlisle,  in  her  soft,  languid 
voice.  "  Stir  the  fire  a  little — I  think  the  room  is  chilly — and 
then  you  may  go." 

"  And  leave  you  all  by  yourself,  Miss  Mary ! "  said  Jessie, 
in  a  tone  of  remonstrance,  as  she  looked  at  the  delicate  face 
lying  on  the  cushions  she  had  just  arranged.  '^  I  don't  think 
that's  a  good  notion.  When  you  stay  by  yourself  so  much, 
you  get  moped-like.  It's  true  I'm  not  the  best  of  company,  bul 
almost  any  company  is  better  than  none ;  and  Mrs.  Ingram  ha? 
gone  to  town." 

"  I  should  be  very  unkind  if  I  wanted  better  company  than 
yours,  my  dear  old  Jessie,"  answered  Mary.  "  But  just  now  1 
don't  want  any  at  all.  I  have  a  great  deal  to  think  about — I 
suppose  you  have  heard  the  news  Basil  brou£?ht  me  ?  " 


258  A   QUESTION   OF   IIOXOR. 

"  I  met  Mr.  Basil  when  he  was  coming  in  the  gate,"  replied 
Jessie,  "  and  he  stopped  me  to  tell  me  that  he  had  won  the  suit. 
'  Good  news,  Jessie  ! '  he  says,  and  I  says,  '  Thank  the  Lord  ! ' 
for  I  knew  in  a  minute  what  he  meant.  Of  all  villainy,"  pur- 
sued Jessie,  "  robbin'  an  orphan  is  the  worst !  They  thought 
because  you  was  fatherless  and  helpless  they  could  do  what 
they  jDleased,  but  the  Lord  raised  up  friends  for  you,  and  thank- 
ful I  am  to  Him  ! " 

"  You  must  not  talk  in  that  way,"  said  Mary.  "  Nobody  was 
trjung  to  rob  me.  If  my  father  had  lived,  the  suit  w^ould  have 
been  brought  all  the  same.  But  I  am  certainly  grateful  for  the 
friends  God  has  given  me,"  she  added  with  an  accent  of  unmis- 
takable sinceritv. 

After  Jessie  had  stirred  the  fire  and  left  the  room,  the  young 
heiress  lay  perfectly  quiet  on  her  sofa-cushions  ;  fair  and  fragile 
as  a  pale  china  rose,  her  long  lashes   sweeping  her  cheek,  and 
her  lips  closed  with  that  expression  of  gentle  serenity  which  is 
generally  an  index  of  pleasant  thoughts.     And  Mary's  thoughts 
were  very  pleasant.     Yet  in  their  pleasantness    Basil's    news 
played  only  a  subordinate  part.     Notwithstanding  the  undoubted 
clearness  of  her  intellect  and  strength  of  her  character,  she  had 
the  simplicity  of  a  child  where  worldly  matters  were  concerned, 
and  it  did  not  oocur  to  her  for  a  moment  that  any  thing  had 
happened  which  might  alter  her  relations  to  Devereux.     That 
her  inheritance  was  still  her  own  was  agreeable  to  her  chiefly 
that  she-^and  not  the  law — might  give  it  to  him,  and  that  her 
generous  desire  to  prove  her  own  disinterestedness  might  be 
gratified.     Poor  Mary !  as  Madeleine  called  her,  she  knew  little 
of  the  world  outside   the   cloistered   home  in  which  she   had 
spent  her  life,  and  absolutely  nothing  of  that  other,  subtler  world, 
the  heart  of  man.     It  is  only  when  we  come  in  contact  wdth  the 
blind  that  we  realize  how  necessary  is  sight^  even  for  many  things 
which  belong:  to  the  moral  rather  than  to  the  material  order. 

The  pretty  Swiss  clock  over  the  mantel  had  ticked  away  an 
hour,  the  stream  of  gold  lying  on  the  carpet  had  shifted  a  little, 
and  still  the  girl  laj'  motionless,  wrapped  in  a  trance  of  calm 


MARY'S  ANSWER.  259 

happiness.  Slie  felt  no  anxiety  that  the  man  of  whom  she  Avas 
dreaming  did  not  come — that  he  had  not  come  for  tAvo  days — 
her  thoughts  were  busy  picturing  all  that  it  was  in  her  power  to 
bestow  on  him.  What  she  would  receive  in  return,  obtained 
from  her  scarcely  a  moment's  consideration.  That  instinct  of 
unselfish  tenderness  which  is  strong  in  almost  all  women — or  at 
least  in  a  sufficient  number  of  the  sex  to  constitute  a  large  ma- 
jority— was  peculiarly  strong  in  Mary  Carlisle.  The  disturbing 
influences  of  passion  had  no  abiding-place  in  her  soul,  and  her 
pure,  serene  countenance  mirrored  truthfully  the  purity  and 
serenity  of  the  spirit  within. 

As  the  cuckoo  darted  out  from  the  clock,  announcing  the 
lapse  of  time,  she  stirred  with  her  first  movement  of  any  thing 
like  impatience.  It  was  not  impatience,  however,  but  expecta- 
tion, as  the  manner  in  which  she  turned  her  head  over  her 
shoulder,  in  the  attitude  of  one  listening,  plainly  showed.  She 
had  not  remained  in  this  position  a  moment  before  the  sound 
of  the  door-bell  echoed  through  the  stillness  of  the  house.  She 
smiled  then — a  smile  that  said  more  plainly  than  words,  "  He 
has  come ! " 

He  entered  the  room  a  minute  later.  And,  when  she  heard 
the  step  now  grown  familiar  to  her  ears,  she  rose,  with  both 
hands  extended — an  impulsive  greeting  due  altogether  to  instinct 
and  not  at  all  to  premeditation. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come  !  "  she  said.  "  Why  have 
you  staid  away  so  long  ?  " 

For  once  her  blindness  was  her  best  friend,  since  it  veiled 
from  her  the  doubt,  irresolution,  hesitation  on  Devereux's  face 
as  he  advanced.  Had  she  seen  his  expression,  she  could  scarce- 
ly have  spoken  with  such  simple  sweetness — yet  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  the  most  consummate  woman  of  the  world 
to  have  thought  of  any  thing  better  to  say. 

He  took  the  hands  she  ofi'ered,  and  lifted  them  to  his  lips  be- 
fore he  answered,  bending  his  head  without  any  thought  of 
efi'ect — for  there  was  only  the  mocking-bird  in  his  cage  to  see — 
like  a  cavalier  in  a  picture.     Then  he  said,  "  T  will  tell  you  pres- 


2G0  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOK. 

ently  why  I  bave  staid  away — but  first  let  me  thank  you  for  this 
kind  welcome." 

"  \Yhy  should  you  thank  me  ?  "  she  asked,  as  she  sank  back 
on  her  couch,  and  he  drew  a  chair  close  to  her  side.  "  Do  j'ou 
not  cheer  my  solitude  by  coming  ?  It  is  I,  then,  who  should  be 
grateful." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  such  a  thing  !  "  said  he,  hastily.  "  I  can- 
not tell  you  how  deeply  I  feel,  how  warmly  I  shall  always  re- 
member the  kindness  with  which  you  have,  from  the  first,  re- 
ceived and  treated  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked — a  cloud  of  doubt  falling 
across  her  face  as  she  turned  it  toward  him.  "  Why  should  j^ou 
speak  in  this  manner  ?  Something  has  come  over  you  like  a 
change :    I  feel  it  in  your  voice.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  what  it  is  ?  "  he  answered — determined 
to  say  at  once  what  he  had  come  resolved  to  utter.  "  Have  you 
not  heard  that  the  suit  in  which  our  interests  were  opposed  has 
been  decided  in  your  favor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  it,"  she  replied,  "  but  what  of  that  ?  You 
speak  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  great  importance.  To  me  it  seems 
of  very  little." 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  said ;  "  do  not  think  that  I 
am  not  honestly  glad,  on  your  account,  that  it  has  ended  in  this 
manner.  But  naturally  it  alters  every  thing  for  me.  I  told  you 
onco — here  in  this  very  room — what  my  circumstances  were. 
When  I  spoke  to  you  later  of  hopes  that  I  now  feel  it  necessary 
to  put  aside,  I  counted  too  confidently,  perhaps,  on  success. 
Instead,  failure  has  come,  and  now  I  have  absolutely  nothing 
which  it  ig  possible  to  ask  a  woman  to  share.  Stop  a  moment 
and  hear  rae  out !  " — as  she  opened  her  lips  quickly  to  speak — 
"  I  scarcely  fear  that  you  will  misjudge  me  far  enough  to  think 
that  I  anticipated  such  a  result  as  this  when  I  spoke  to  3^ou  five 
days  ago,  but  there  are  others  who  may  tell  you  that  I  did. 
Pray  do  not  believe  them.  Pray  let  me  keep  the  thought  that  I 
have  won  j^our  faith,  though  Fortune  denies  me  the  right  to  win 
your  heart." 


MARY'S  AXSWER.  261 

She  uttered  a  low,  startled  cry — strangely  like  tlie  one  lie 
had  heard  from  her  lips  when  he  spoke  on  this  subject  before — 
and  raised  herself  quickly  to  an  upright  position.  He  was 
frightened  by  the  manner  in  which  her  color  came  and  went, 
and  by  the  trembling  of  the  fragile  hands  that  clasped  themselves 
together. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  very  stupid,"  she  said,  "  but  I  hardly  think 
I  understand  3*ou — I  hardly  think  you  mean  that  this  decision  is 
to  make  an  end  of — of  all  you  spoke  of  the  other  daj^  ?  " 

If  ever  Devereux  felt  himself  in  a  horrible  quandary,  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  this  was  the  moment.  He  saw  what  manner  of 
influence  he  had  gained  over  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  girl  be- 
fore him,  and  his  position,  which  would  have  been  a  difficult  one 
with  any  woman,  was  rendered  ten  times  mere  difficult  by  the 
peculiar  circumstances  which  surrounded  Mary  Carlisle — by  the 
pathos  of  her  blindness,  by  the  danger  of  her  illness,  and  by  the 
charm  of  her  character.  He  hesitated,  and  those  who  do  not 
understand  the  movements  of  a  generous,  impulsive,  rather  un- 
selfish, and  wholly  undisciplined  nature,  will  probably  think  him 
altogether  weak  and  vacillating,  when  it  is  recorded  that  already 
he  felt  the  resolution  with  which  he  had  entered,  wavering. 
That  resolution  had  been  to  firmly  renounce  all  attempt  to  win 
the  heiress's  hand ;  yet  when  he  saw  the  startled  pleading  of  her 
face,  the  childlike  quiver  of  her  lips,  his  heart  misgave  him. 
Could  he  draw  back  ?  Would  not  the  consequences  be  more 
disastrous  than  if  he  accepted  the  situation  in  which  his  own 
premature  folly  (so,  in  the  light  of  old  Burnham's  death,  he  now 
regarded  his  off"er)  had  placed  him  ?  If  Mary  could  have  seen 
the  troubled  look  in  his  eyes,  she  might  have  understood  the 
meaning  of  his  hesitation  better  than  she  did.  As  it  was,  she 
suddenly  extended  her  hand. 

"You  are  only  trying  me,"  she  said.  "I  feel  sure  of  that. 
You  do  not  mean  any  thing  so  unjust.  What !  you  were  willing 
to  offer  me  the  fortune  when  you  thought  it  would  be  jours — 
and  now  you  are  not  willing  to  take  it  when  it  is  mine  I  Was  I 
right  the  other  day,  then  ? — was  it  only  pity  that  you  felt  for 
12 


262  A  QUESTION   OF   IIOXOR. 

me  ?  And  now — now  that  you  think  I  shall  not  need  money— 
you  are  ready  to  go  and  leave  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  you  who  are  unjust !  "  said  Devereux,  speaking  almost 
mechanically  in  the  tuiimlt  of  his  thoughts.  "Pardon  me  for 
saying  that  you  do  not  comprehend — you  do  not  realize  how  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  I  should  seem  to  have  taken  advantage  of 
your  generosity  to  make  my  fortune  secure  in  the  event  of  either 
losing  or  gaining  the  suit." 

"  No,  I  do  not  comprehend,"  said  she,  slowly.  "  I  do  not 
realize  how  it  can  be  so  important  to  you  in  what  manner  the 
eyes  of  the  world  regard  you.  If  I  believe  that  you  never  meant 
any  thing  of  the  kind— is  not  that  enough  ?  It  only  concerns 
you  and  me — not  the  world." 

"The  opinion  of  the  world  is  something  that  no  man  can 
afford  to  disregard,"  he  said.  "It  is  embodied  in  many  ways. 
Y"our  friends,  for  instance —  " 

"I  have  no  friends  for  whom  I  care  except  the  Severns,"  in- 
terrupted she,  "  and  Basil,  who  was  here  an  hour  or  two  ago, 
told  me  he  felt  sure  the  case  would  have  gone  in  your  favor,  but 
for  the  death  of  your  witness." 

"  Yes,"  said  Devereux,  "  I  think  it  would — but  he  died,  and 
that  ended  the  matter." 

"  It  should  not  have  ended  it,  however,"  said  she,  with  a 
glow  coming  over  her  face.  "  It  was  not  honest.  If  that  man's 
testimony  would  have  made  the  property  yours,  it  ought  to  be 
yours  as  much  as  if  he  had  given  it.  That  is  how  I  feel.  But 
I  did  not  mind  it,"  she  added,  "  when  I  thought  it  would  be 
yours  in  any  event ;  only  now — now —  " 

Her  voice  trembled  and  ceased.  Involuntarily  one  hand 
went  to  her  heart,  as  she  leaned  against  the  back  of  the  couch 
on  which  she  was  sitting.  She  was  like  a  child  in  the  ignorance 
of  her  blindness,  yet  a  chord  of  the  woman  stirred  within  her, 
auvi  she  felt  that  she  had  said  as  much  as  it  was  possible  to  say. 
The  rest  must  come  from  Devereux ;  the  decision  rested  with 
bim — would  he  go  or  stay  ? 

If  the  moment  of  silence  which  followed  was  one  of  suspense 


MARYS  ANSWER.  263 

to  her,  it  was  certainly  one  of  conflict  and  doubt  with  her  com- 
panion. To  a  man  of  less  subtile  perceptions,  all  that  she  was 
feeling  might  not  have  been  so  fatally  clear — but  he  not  onh' 
understood  all  that  she  implied,  but  he  read  all  that  she  thought 
as  if  her  mind  had  been  a  crystal  pool.  In  that  moment  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  do  the  thing  on  which  he  had  resolved  when 
he  entered — he  could  not,  to  save  his  own  pride,  leave  this  wom- 
an whose  heart  he  had  won.  "  It  would  be  brutal !  "  he  said  to 
himself.  "  I  should  be  haunted  by  the  look  of  her  face  as  long 
as  I  lived !  God  knows,  no  one  could  hate  more  desperately  to 
bear  the  brand  of  a  fortune-hunter,  but — one  must  think  of  honor 
before  all  things." 

So,  when  he  spoke,  it  was  with  all  his  usual  gentleness  in 
his  voice — the  gentleness  she  had  learned  to  know  so  well.  "  I 
cannot  bear  to  give  you  pain  by  discussing  this  matter,"  he  said, 
"  but  you  must  understand  that  the  decision  of  the  court  is  ir- 
revocable. The  property  is  yours — nothing  can  possibly  take  it 
from  you — and  you  must  not  say  again  that  it  '  ouglit '  to  be 
mine." 

"  Why  should  I  not  say  it  if  it  is  true  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Do 
you  know  that  you  are  cruel  to  talk  like  this  !  How  can  I  make 
you  comprehend  ? — I  am  blind — I  am  a  woman — " 

She  could  say  no  more.  With  a  gasp,  she  lay  down  on  the 
scroll  end  of  the  couch,  and  buried  her  face  in  the  cushions.  Her 
heart  beat  with  a  vibrating  thrill  which  made  itself  felt  in  every 
fibre  of  her  body,  and  her  whole  frame  visiblj'  shook  with  agita- 
tion. With  a  sensation  of  absolute  dismay  Devereux  saw  this, 
and  Madeleine's  warning  flashed  upon  him.  He  felt  that  this 
excitement  must  be  ended  at  once,  and,  bending  forward,  he 
touched  lightly  the  quivering  form. 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  he  said.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  be  cruel — I 
would  do  any  thing  sooner.  You  are  right,  after  all.  It  does 
not  matter  what  others  say  of  me,  so  that  you  believe  in  my 
honesty  and  faith.  And  if  you  do  believe  in  it,  and  if  you  will 
let  me  ask  again  the  question  I  asked  five  days  ago — " 

She  lifted  her  face  abruptly — so  abruptly  that  the  motion 


264  A  QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

took  him  altogether  bj  surprise — and  caught  quickly  the  hand 
which  had  touched  her. 

"Stop!"  she  said,  hastily — almost  passionately — "stop  a 
moment  and  listen  to  me.  I  do  not  know  much  of  the  world, 
but  perhaps  there  is  some  way  in  which  you  could  take  this 
property  that  I  believe  to  be  rightfully  ^^ours,  without — without 
me.  If  so,  it  might  be  better.  I  am  sick,  I  am  blind,  I  should 
only  encumber  you — but  if  you  would  take  the  fortune —  " 

This  was  more  than  Devereux  could  bear — it  ended  his  last 
shred  of  hesitation.  The  lis^ht  of  self-devotion  on  the  Wind 
girl's  fair,  spiritual  face,  seemed  to  shame  his  own  consideration 
of  self.     With  a  sudden  motion  he  drew  her  to  his  heart. 

"  I  will  take  yow,"  he  said,  "  and  thank  God  for  the  gift  of 
one  so  tender  and  trusting — but  do  not  mention  the  fortune 
again.  That  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  I  have  no  longer  concern 
or  interest  in  it.  I  almost  wash  that  I  had  never  laid  claim  to 
it." 

"Do  not  wish  that,"  said  she.  "It  cannot  have  been  mere 
chance  that  drew  our  interests  and  our  lives  together.  God 
must  have  meant  that  we  should  know  and — and  love  each  other. 
See,  too,  how  it  smoothes  every  thing — as  you  said  five  days  ago ! 
Does  it  matter  now  how  the  suit  ended  ?  Ah,  if  you  would  only 
feel  with  me  that  it  does  not ! " 

"  Should  you  have  felt  that  if  it  had  ended  otherwise  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  yes,  a  thousand  times  yes,"  she  answered ;  "  only  I 
might  have  doubted  a  little  if  you  did  not  merely  pity  me. 
Perhaps  I  might  doubt  it  yet,  if  I  stopped  to  weigh  and  measure 
all  that  you  have  said.  But  I  cannot  do  that.  You  would  not 
be  unjust  enough  to  seek  to  win  me  if  you  did  not  care  for  me 
a  little,  and  I — I  love  you,  and  I  am  quite  happy." 


BEHIND   THE  SCENES  265 


CHAPTER    V. 

BEHIND     THE     S  C  E  jS"  E  S  . 


f 


As  Rosalind  made  her  toilet  in  the  dressing-room  of  the 
theatre  that  evening,  it  was  with  a  grave  face  and  an  anxious 
mind.  She  had  quite  decided  what  it  was  that  Devereux  had 
on  the  night  before  declared  his  intention  of  asking  her,  and  she 
felt  that  the  necessity  for  avoiding  him  was  very  great  indeed. 
The  suit  having  been  abominably  and  unjustly  decided  against 
him,  there  was  "  no  good "  in  entangling  herself  any  further. 
Champion  would  not  endure  much  more  trifling — if  indeed  any 
at  all.  "It  is  easier  to  avoid  trouble  than  to  cure  it,"  she 
thought.     "  I  must  keep  out  of  Mr.  Devereux's  way." 

In  accordance  with  this  resolution,  therefore,  she  kept  care- 
fully to  her  dressing-room — delaying  her  toilet  by  various  de- 
vices— until  it  was  time  for  her  appearance  on  the  stage.  Then 
she  turned  to  Madeleine,  who  had  obligingly  acted  as  lady's- 
maid,  and  begged  that  she  would  keep  with  her.  "  I  have  a 
particular  reason,"  she  said  impressively,  "for  the  request.  I 
will  tell  you  about  it  afterward." 

"  It  may  be  impossible  for  me  to  keep  with  you  all  the  time,"-^ 
said  Madeleine,  "but  as  much  as  possible  I  will — Here!  let  me 
pin  your  train  a  little  farther  back." 

They  went  out  together,  and  the  first  person  whom  they  met 
was  Devereux.  Rosalind  strove  desperately  to  be  as  usual  in 
her  manner,  but  the  effort  was  a  depressing  failure.  Her  disap- 
pointment was  too  recent,  too  acute — and  at  sight  of  him  all  its 
bitterness  revived !  When  he  spoke,  she  could  almost  fancy 
that  she  had  been  dreaming,  so  entirely  was  his  manner  un- 
changed. Yet  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  respond  to  its  ease 
and  lightness.  Never  before,  she  said  to  herself,  had  she  been 
so  awkward  and  so  constrained.  Naturally  this  knowledge  did 
not  tend  to  make  her  less  so,  and  when — suddenly  looking  up — 
she  caught  his  eyes  bent  on  her,  full  of  a  certain  amused  intelli- 


2G6  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

geiice,  her  sense  of  discomfiture  was  complete.  They  were 
standing  at  the  wings,  waiting  for  her  cue,  and  at  that  moment, 
to  her  great  relief,  it  came.  With  cheeks  flushed  deeply,  and 
almost  ungraceful  haste,  she  swept  past  him  to  the  stage.  At 
another  time  she  mio;ht  have  been  nervously  conscious  of  the 

CD  •/ 

critical  Stansbury  eyes  ranged  before  her,  but  now  she  scarcely 
gave  them  a  thought. 

"  She  has  very  little  of  that  self-consciousness  which  is  usu- 
ally the  bane  of  amateur  actresses  !  "  said  Devereux,  following 
her  with  his  eyes. 

"  She  is  alwaj^s  self-possessed,"  answered  Madeleine,  quietly. 
She  glanced  at  him  as  she  spoke — trying  to  read  the  riddle  of 
his  handsome,  careless,  yet  impassive  face.  It  was  not  remark- 
able that,  under  the  circumstances,  she  should  have  felt  no  small 
degree  of  curiosity  regarding  that  flirtation  which  had  been  so 
patent  to  all  observers,  between  Rosalind  and  himself.  How  far 
had  it  gone  ?  Had  it  passed  over  the  somewhat  indefinite 
bounds  which  divide  flirtation  from  absolute  love-making  ?  Had 
they  in  any  manner  "  understood  "  each  other  ?  Rosalind's 
mode  of  receiving  the  news  of  the  end  of  the  lawsuit  had  cer- 
tainly inclined  her  to  think  so,  yet  there  was  the  stubborn  fact  of 
Devereux's  offer  to  Mary  Carlisle.  Had  he  been  playing  fast 
and  loose  with  either — or  both  ? 

Every  one  feels  the  magnetism  of  a  steady,  intent  gaze,  and 
before  long  Devereux's  eyes  left  Rosalind  to  meet  the  dark, 
quiet  orbs  bent  on  him.  What  soft,  serene  lustre  they  pos- 
sessed ! — not  liquid  wells  of  beguiling  light  like  some  other  eyes 
he  knew,  but  crystal  depths  in  which  a  man  might  be  sure  of 
finding  absolute  truthfulness,  perfect  trust,  and  quiet  repose. 
So  he  reflected,  while  he  said,  with  a  smile : 

"  I  wish  I  might  venture  to  ask  of  what  j^ou  are  thinking. 
Miss  Severn." 

"  I  wish  I  might  venture  to  tell  you,"  said  Madeleine,  in  her 
frank  voice.  "  If  I  thought  it  could  serve  any  good  end,  I 
would ;  but  I  fear  that  is  impossible." 

He  was  surprised  and  interested.  "  Why  should  it  be  im- 
possible ?  "  he  asked.     "  If  I  can  do  any  thing  for  you-—" 


BEHIXD  THE  SCENES.  267 

But  she  interrupted  liim  by  shaking  her  head.  "  Not  any 
thing,"  she  said.  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself.  There  is 
nothing  you  can  do  for  me.  I  was  thinking  of — others,  and 
wondering — shall  I  really  tell  you  what  I  was  wondering,  Mr. 
Dev^ereux  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind,"  answered  Devereux,  altogether  at 
a  loss  for  her  meaning,  and  puzzled  by  her  manner. 

Then  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment  she  spoke, 

"  I  was  wondering,"  she  said,  "  where  the  amusement  of  the 
hour  ends,  and  the  earnestness  of  life  begins,  with  a  man  like  you." 
■  "  The  amusement  of  the  hour  ! "  he  repeated,  thoroughly 
surprised.  Then  a  tide  of  warm  blood  sprang  to  his  face. 
Madeleine's  glance — almost  unconsciously — passed  to  Rosalind, 
and  he  grasped  all  that  she  meant.  He  hesitated.  What 
could  he  say  ?  No  man  with  a  fragment  of  chivalry  in  his  na- 
ture cares  to  exculpate  himself  at  the  expense  of  a  woman. 
"  It  is  my  luck !  "  Devereux  thought.  It  certainly  had  been 
his  luck  before.  Women  had  always  had  a  habit  of  distinguish- 
ing him  by  their  attentions,  and  he  was  never  able  to  pass  the 
sirens  with  closed  ears. 

"I  think  you  misjudge  me,  Miss  Severn,"  he  said,  after 
a  while,  a  little  diffidently.  "  I  am  not  so  thorough  an  epicurean 
as  you  fancy.  The  amusement  of  the  hour  is  not  by  any  means 
the  first  consideration  with  me." 

"  It  may  not  be  the  first  consideration,"  answered  Made- 
leine, a  httle  coldly — she  thought  to  herself:  "He  is  quite  right ! 
Interest  is  plainly  his  first  consideration!" — "but  at  least  it  is 
enough  of  a  consideration  to  make  you  careless  of — of  things 
that  ought  to  be  regarded."  Then,  having  said  this,  she  sud- 
denly remembered  how  little  right  she  had  to  call  ]\Ir.  Devereux 
to  account  for  his  shortcomino;s,  and  she  blushed.  "  Excuse 
me  ! "  she  added,  quickly.  "  I  am  presumptuous — I  have  no 
possible  right  to  speak  so  to  you." 

"  Let  us  take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  a  right,"  said 
Devereux,  with  unmoved  courtesy,  "  and  pray  be  good  enough — " 

"  What  on  earth  is  engrossing  you  two  ?  "  demanded  Basil, 


268  A   QUESTIOif  OF   HONOR. 

suddenly  appearing,  plaj-book  in  hand.  "  Didn't  you  Lear 
your  cue  ?  "  (this  to  Devereux).  "  The  play  is  waiting  on 
you." 

"  By  Jove  ! "  said  that  gentleman,  starting.  "  I  had  forgot- 
ten all  about  the  play.     What  is  my  speech  ?  " 

Basil  gave  it  to  him,  and  the  next  instant  he  made  his  ap- 
pearance before  the  audience  that  had  good-naturedly  waited  in 
silence  during  a  dismal  interlude  of  two  minutes. 

"  What  came  over  the  fellow  ? "  Basil  asked  his  sister. 
"  They  all  seem  on  their  heads  to-night.  Things  are  going  off 
shockingly." 

"  And  Mr.  Lacy  has  not  been  seen  or  heard  of !  "  said  Miss 
Champion,  at  that  moment  making  her  appearance,  with  a  crim- 
son scarf  draped  becomingly  over  her  head.  "  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  he  did  not  come  at  all — it  would  be  just  like  him  ! 
O  I — Madeleine,  are  you  here  ?  I'm  sure  I  beg  pardon.  But 
perhaps  you  know  something  of  Mr.  Lacy's  whereabouts  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  since  this  morning,"  answ'ered  Made- 
leine, "  but  no  doubt  he  will  be  here  in  time." 

"  He  is  not  due  till  the  after-piece,"  said  Basil. 

"  I  wish  he  was  not  due  at  all,"  said  Miss  Champion,  who 
had  plainly  lost  her  temper.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  understand 
the  caj)rices  of  poets,  being  only  a  plain  mortal  myself!" 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  fear  that  Gordon's  caprices  w^ill 
make  him  late,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  slight  strain  of  hauteur 
in  her  voice.     Then  she  walked  away. 

"  I  suppose  I  have  provoked  her,"  said  Miss  Champion,  look- 
ing after  the  retreating  figure.  "  Of  course  I  am  sorry,  but  no- 
body can  deny  that  Gordon  Lacy  is  literally  made  up  of  caprices. 
He  does  not  know  his  own  mind  two  consecutive  days.  I  detest 
that  kind  of  person  !  Now,  when  I  make  up  my  mind,  it  is 
made  up  for  good.     Nothing  ever  changes  me." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  that  ?  "  asked  Basil,  looking  at  her 
with  his  honest,  steady  eyes.  The  SjDanish  proverb  did  not  at 
that  moment  occur  to  him,  which  says  that  a  wise  man  changes 
his  mind,  a  fool  never.     When  do  uncomplimentary  proverbs. 


BEHIND  THE  SCENES.  269 

or  reflections,  occur  to  a  man  who  listens  to  nonsense  from  the 
lips  of  a  woman  with  whom  he  fancies  himself  in  love  ? 

"  Oh,  quite  sure,"  replied  the  young  lady,  who  belonged  to 
that  large  class  whose  imagination  is  not  vivid  enough  to  antici- 
pate any  change  in  themselves.  "  What  I  decide  to  do  I  al- 
w^ays  accomplish  in  the  end,  no  matter  what  obstacles  interfere, 
and  that  is  the  way  I  like  a  man  to  be." 

"  But  it  is  hard  to  persevere  without  hope,"  said  Basil,  who 
had  not  the  least  idea  that  the  sharp  edge  of  her  w^ords  was 
due  to  Lacy's  defection.  "  With  hope  a  man  might  accomplish 
any  thing,  but  w^ithout — " 

"  Is  there  any  need  for  him  to  be  without  ? "  asked  she, 
laughing,  and  casting  down  her  eyes,  conscious  of  the  length 
and  blackness  of  their  lashes. 

It  was  certainly  no  time  or  place  for  a  declaration,  but  Basil's 
love-fever  had  reached  a  point  when  he  knew  that  he  could  not 
endure  suspense  and  trifling  any  longer.  Whatever  his  fate 
might  be,  he  must  know  it. 

"  May  I  have  hope,  then  ?  "  he  asked,  quicldy.  "  I  have 
long  wished  to  ask  you  that.  You  know  how  I  love  you — is 
there  any  hope  for  me  ?  " 

"  Merc}^,  Mr.  Severn  ! — how  you  startle  one  !  "  said  Miss 
Champion,  who  did  not  look  by  any  means  exceedingly  amazed. 
"  Is  it  possible  you  expect  me  to  answer  such  a  question  as  that 
now — and  my  head  full  of  the  play  ?  " 

"  Severn,  Severn  !  "  said  Tom  Gresham,  advancing  from  the 
front  of  the  stage  to  the  side-scene,  "  where  the  deuce  is  that 
fellow  who  ought  to  come  on  and  say  that  my  mother  is  ill  and 
has  sent  for  me  ?  " 

"  Where,  indeed  ?  "  said  Miss  Champion.  *'  It  is  Frank 
Urquhart  you  mean — what  has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  He  can't  get  on  his  boots,"  said  a  voice  from  the  green- 
room.    "  His  feet  are  swelled." 

"  Confound  his  boots  !  "  said  Gresham.  "  Let  him  come  on 
without  them. — Severn,  for  Heaven's  sake — " 

Basil  did  not  need  the  adjuration.     He  darted  away  in  search 


270  A  QUESTION  OF   KOXOR. 

of  the  delinquent  Frank,  who  was  vainly  and  agonizingly  trying 
to  draw  on  his  long,  red-topped  postillion  boots.  "  I  can't  get 
them  on,  Mr.  Severn  !  "  he  affirmed,  half  crying — for  had  not 
the  dream  of  appearing  before  the  Stansbury  public  in  these 
boots  been  the  delight  of  his  life  for  three  long  weeks  ? — "  1 
went  duck-shooting  to-day,  and  my  feet — " 

"  You  young  rascal,  don't  you  know  that  everybody  is  wait- 
ing ?  "  said  Basil,  wrathfully.  "  Put  on  your  other  boots,  and 
come  along ! " 

But  with  one  final  despairing  tug  the  boots  came  on,  and 
Frank  was  spared  that  dreadful  alternative.  He  seized  the  whip 
held  out  to  him  and  fled. 

A  minute  later,  Gresham  came  off  highly  indignant.  "  I 
could  hear  the  people  laughing  in  front !  "  he  said.  "  They  knew 
as  well  as  I  did  that  there  was  some  hitch,  and  that  I  was  there 
behind  time.  I  believe  the  thing  is  going  to  be  "St.  fiasco  after  all 
our  rehearsals.  There  are  Miss  Rosalind  and  Mr.  Devereux — 
everybody  knows  how  well  they  acted  last  night ;  to-night  I'll 
be  hanged  if  they  are  much  better  than  two  sticks  !  " 

This  was,  unhappily,  true.  Rosalind  and  Devereux  were 
not  doing  themselves  credit — the  former  played  constrained!}^, 
the  latter  absently.  They  were  both  conscious  of  the  fact,  and, 
when  they  met  in  the  green-room  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  the 
gentleman  made  his  apologies. 

"  I  fear — indeed,  I  know — that  I  am  supporting  you  very 
badly,"  he  said.  "  Pray  excuse  me.  I  told  you  that  I  feared  I 
should  murder  the  part." 

"  It  is  I  who  am  murdering  mine^''  said  Rosalind.  "  I  think 
you  do  very  well — though  not  so  well  as  last  night,  certainly. 
But  one  cannot  always  be  at  one's  best." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  he.  "  But  there  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  be  at  my  worst — unless,  indeed,  it  is  a  case  of  magnetism." 

Rosalind  knew  well  what  he  meant,  but  she  made  no  attempt 
to  answer,  as  she  would  have  done  twenty-four  hours  before. 
She  only  said,  quietly,  "  If  magnetism  explains  bad  acting,  some 
one  must  surely  have  subjected  me  to  it." 


BEHIND   THE   SCENES.  271 

"  You  are  not  your  usual  self  to-night,"  said  Devereux,  cu- 
rious to  know  the  exact  meaning  of  the  change  in  her.  He 
could  not  believe  that  it  was  indeed — as  he  had  first  suspected 
— owing  to  his  own  altered  prospects.  After  all,  it  did  not  con- 
cern her  greatly  whether  he  was  eligible  or  non-eligible  as  a 
matrimonial  parti.  Her  reserve  and  constraint  must  have  some 
other  meaning,  and*he  decided  to  discover  what  it  was.  They  had 
the  green-room  very  much  to  themselves  just  then — the  curtain 
being  down,  and  the  rest  of  the  company  on  the  stage,  engaged 
in  a  general  hubbub. 

"  Am  I  not  ?  "  said  she,  evasively.  "  I  do  not  feel  very  well. 
I  have  had  a  headache  all  day.  But  perhaps  you  are  like  one  of 
Charles  Reade's  characters,  and  entertain  a  'rooted  distrust'  of 
feminine  headaches.  I  should  not  blame  you.  We  often  make 
them  cloaks  for  other  things." 

"  Has  yours  to-day  been  a  cloak  for  any  thing  else  ?  " 

"  No,  mine  was  genuine — I  have  it  yet.  I  wish  this  tire- 
some business  was  over.  How  foolish  we  were  to  be  entrapped 
into  it ! " 

"  I  do  not  regret  my  share  of  the  foolishness,"  said  Devereux, 
not  very  truthfully.  "  It  has  given  me  many  pleasant  hours  which 
would  else  have  been  dull  ones." 

No  answer,  no  swift,  upward  glance  of  the  lovely,  blue-gray 
eyes.  "  If  I  utter  one  word,  there  is  no  telling  icliat  he  will  say !  " 
thought  Rosalind.  "  Where  is  Madeleine  ?  She  promised  to 
keep  with  me.  If,  by  some  ill-chance,  James  should  come,  he 
would  be  certain  I  was  flirting !  " 

"  I  told  you  last  night,"  said  Devereux,  sinking  his  voice  a 
little,  "  that  I  meant  to  ask  a  favor  of  you  to-night,  in  memory 
of  our  pleasant  association.     May  I  ask  it  now  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  beg  you  to  defer  it,"  said  she,  quickly. 
"  Is  not  that  the  curtain  going  up  ?  Excuse  me  ! — I  must  see 
Madeleine  for  a  moment.     O  Gordon ! — is  that  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  some  reason  for  believing  so,"  responded  Lacy,  into 
whose  arms  she  very  nearly  ran,  as  she  turned  abruptly.  He 
wore  a  light  overcoat  over  the  faultless  costume  of  &ir  Edward 


272  ^  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

Ardenty  and  looked  out  of  sorts,  and  altogether  unlike  that  very 
gay  and  gallant  cavalier.  "  Is  Madeleine  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
want  to  see  her." 

"  She  ought  to  be  here,"  said  Rosalind,  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 
"  I  was  just  going  in  search  of  her.  Perhaps  she  is  in  the  dress- 
inG:-room.     I  will  see." 

The  two  men,  left  together  as  she  passed  away,  had  very 
little  to  say  to  each  other.  "  The  play  is  going  on  heavily,  isn't 
it  ?  "  asked  Lacy.  "  I  have  just  arrived,  but  it  strikes  me  the 
company  seem  rather  demoralized." 

"  I  think  the  first  rehearsal  was  better,  on  the  whole,"  replied 
Devereux. 

The  second  act  was  in  progress  by  this  time,  and  the  latter 
was  summoned  on  the  stage  at  that  moment.  Almost  immedi- 
ately afterward,  Madeleine  appeared.  "  I  was  arranging  Rosa- 
lind's costume  for  the  third  act,"  she  said.  "  So,  you  have  come 
at  last,  Gordon  !  I  am  glad  of  it — Miss  Champion  has  been  very 
uneasy  for  fear  j^ou  did  not  mean  to  come  at  all." 

*'  I  was  almost  tempted  to  stay  away,"  he  replied.  "  Made- 
leine, my  darling,  such  horrible  luck ! — Come  out  of  this  uproar 
a  little,  and  let  me  tell  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  she,  slipping  her  hand  into  his  arm,  as 
they  made  their  way  to  a  corner.  "  Nothing  very  terrible,  since 
you  are  here." 

"  Ah,  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  It  is  something  terrible  when 
one's  hopes  and  toil  go  for  naught.  My  publishers  are  bank- 
rupt." 

"  O  Gordon  !  " 

"  It  is  a  fact.  I  saw  a  newspaper  rumor  to  that  effect  a  few 
daj's  ago,  and  I  wrote  at  once  for  information.  The  mail  this 
evening  brought  me  the  news.  They  owe  me  heavily,  and  I 
shall  probably  obtain  but  a  moiet}'-  of  the  amount — if  that." 

"  How  sorry,  how  sorry  I  am  !  "  she  said,  with  a  quiver  in  her 
voice — for  she  knew  how  deeply  this  blow  struck.  "  Forgive  me 
for  speaking  so  lightly — I  know  this  is  terrible,  after  all  your 
labor !     Can  nothing  be  done  ?  " 


BEHIND   THE  SCENES.  273 

"  Nothino:  whatever.  I  must  share  with  the  rest  of  their 
creditors,  What  castles  in  the  air  it  ends  ! — How  much  farther 
off  it  puts  jou  !  Now  I  must  begin  afresh,  with  what  hope  I 
may." 

"  With  all  hope  I  "  said  she,  earnestly.  "  You  have  a  name, 
which  JOU  did  not  have  before,  greater  art,  and  a  more  facile 
power  of  working.     Ah,  Gordon,  have  faith  in  yourself!" 

"  I  have  not  the  least — not  one  grain  !  "  said  he,  impetuously. 
"  I  am  unstable  as  water,  shifting  as  sand.  If  it  were  not  for  you, 
Madeleine,  God  only  knows  where  I  should  drift.  But  icith  you, 
I  feel  strong ;  you  give  me  repose,  faith,  patience.  Promise 
me  that  this  shall  make  no  difference — that  you  will  wait  and 
trust  — " 

"  Gordon  ! "  said  Madeleine,  in  a  tone  of  keen  reproach.  She 
lifted  her  hand  and  laid  it  over  his  lips.  "  Hush !  "  she  said. 
"  How  can  you  wrong  me  by  such  words  ?  Can  you  think  it 
would  make  a  difference  ?  Can  you  think  I  shall  not  wait  and 
trust — to  the  end  ?  " 

"  Did  some  one  tell  me  that  Lacy  was  here  ?  "  asked  a  voice 
near  at  hand.  "  By  George  ! — here  he  is  !  Sir  Edward  Ardent^ 
you  fascinating  dog,  Mrs.  CMllington  wishes  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Stay  here  till  I  come  back,"  said  Lacy  to  Madeleine,  with 
an  impatient  contraction  of  the  brows.  "  I  shall  not  be  gone 
long.  It  is  impossible  that  Miss  Champion  can  have  any  thing 
of  importance  to  say  to  me." 

Whether  she  had  any  thing  of  importance  to  say  or  not,  Miss 
Champion  managed  to  detain  her  unwilling  knight  some  time, 
and  Madeleine  had  left  her  corner  to  arrange  some  stray  locks 
of  Miss  Gresham's  hair,  when  Devereux  next  came  off  the  stage. 
He  waited  till  that  young  lady  was  summoned  away,  then  he 
addressed  Miss  Severn. 

■"  Pardon  me  for  neglecting  to  tell  you  earlier,"  he  said,  "  that 
I  saw  Miss  Carlisle  this  afternoon,  and  she  asked  me  to  say  that 
she  will  send  her  carriage  for  you  to-morrow  morning,  and  that 
she  hopes  you  will  go  to  the  Lodge.  She  wishes  very  much  to 
see  you." 


274  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  Of  course  I  will  go,"  replied  Madeleine.  She  glanced  up 
quickl}'',  and  something  reminded  him  of  the  look  she  gave  him 
once  before,  in  this  very  place.  "  I  hope  Mary  is  well,"  she 
added. 

"  She  was  quite  well  when  I  left  her,"  Devereux  answered. 
"  But  I  have  feared  since  that  she  may  have  been  too  much  ex- 
cited.    I  am  glad,  therefore,  that  you  are  going  to  her." 

"  But  you  should  not  have  excited  her,"  said  Madeleine,  al- 
most indignantly.  "  I  warned  you — I  told  you  that  it  was  no 
slight  danger  you  incurred  !     Her  life  hangs  on  a  thread." 

"  I  regretted  as  much  as  possible  the  necessity  for  exciting 
her,"  he  answered,  "  but  it  was  something  unavoidable.  I  was 
forced  to  speak  of  the  business  which  was  ended  to-day." 

"  There  is  nothing  very  exciting  in  discussing  a  lawsuit,"  said 
Madeleine,  regarding  him  suspiciousl3\ 

"  True — but  the  discussion  of  a  lawsuit  may  lead  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  other  matters.     It  did  so  with  us." 

"  And  it  might  have  led  to  consequences  much  more  serious," 
she  said,  feeling  slightly  ruffled  by  his  cool  self-possession. 

"  I  should  have  been  inexpressibly  sorry,"  said  he,  quietly, 
"  but  I  could  not  have  blamed  myself — neither,  I  think,  could 
you  blame  me,  if  you  knew  all  the  circumstances — though  you 
are  a  severe  judge." 

"  I ! "  said  Madeleine,  coloring.  "  You  are  the  first  person 
who  ever  thought  so." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  the  first  person  w^ho  ever  had  reason  to  think 
so.  At  all  events  you  cannot  deny,  Miss  Severn,  that  you  are 
disposed  to  judge  me  severely." 

"  I  have  not  the  faintest  reason  to  judge  you  at  all,  Mr.  Deve- 


reux." 


"That,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  is  an  evasion  which  I  hardly 
expected  you  to  make.  Be  frank,  please — frank  as  you  were  an 
hour  ago  when  we  were  interrupted — and  tell  me  what  it  is  that 
prejudices  you  so  deeply  against  me.  One  or  two  things  I  know, 
and  those  things  I  should  like  to  explain  if  you  will  give  me  an 
opportunity  to  do  so." 


BEHIND   THE   SCENES.  2?5 

His  limpid  eyes  met  her  own — eyes  which  looked  as  if  can- 
dor ought  to  dwell  in  them — and  between  surprise  and  hesita- 
tion, Madeleine  felt  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  It  was  a  relief  that 
she  was  spared  the  necessity  of  saying  any  thing,  for  Champion 
ap23eared  at  that  moment  and  came  up  to  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  Rosalind  is  not  well,"  he  said,  after  exchanging 
a  stiff  salutation  with  Devereux.  "  I  have  been  watching  her 
for  some  time,  and  I  have  come  to  propose  that  she  shall  go 
home  immediately  after  the  play.  My  mother's  carriage  is  at 
the  door." 

"  Probably  she  will  be  glad  to  do  so,"  answ^ered  Madeleine. 
"I  do  not  think  she  is  very  well.  Here  she  comes  to  answer  for 
herself." 

Rosalind  answered  for  herself  to  the  effect  that  she  would  be 
very  glad  to  go  as  soon  as  her  part  ended.  '"  I  am  sick  of  the 
whole  thing,"  she  said.  "  I — I  have  made  a  complete  fool  of  my- 
self !  Are  not  people  laughing  at  me,  James  ?  I  give  you  my 
word,  I  feel  hysterically  inclined." 

"  Everybody  says  that  you  are  looking  exceedingly  pretty," 
replied  Champion,  who  had  tact  enough  to  administer  the  only 
consolation  in  his  power. 

"Oh,  that  is  nothino;!"  said  she.  "The  w^oman  who  would 
not  look  pretty  in  point  lace  and  emeralds,  had  better  go  and 
hang  herself.  But  I  thought  I  should  make  a  great  success  as 
an  actress,  and  I  have  been  no  better  than  a  stick.  Last  night 
I  did  act  splendidly — you  ought  to  have  seen  me  last  night, 
James !  "  Here  she  stopped  and  colored — strongly  conscious 
that  it  would  not  have  afforded  James  any  great  satisfaction  to 
have  seen  her  last  night. 

"Once  is  enough  for  me,"  said  Champion,  with  disgust.  "I 
have  had  enough  of  seeing  other  men  j^laying  at  making  love  to 
you.  I  will  never  tolerate  such  a  thing  again — not  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  I  shall  never  ask  you  to  tolerate  it,"  said  Rosalind,  who  felt 
very  much  depressed. 

In  this  manner  the  comedy  proceeded,  and,  after  many  mis- 


276  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOK. 

adventures,  finally  ended.  "The  Morning  Call"  went  off  with 
a  little  more  spirit,  but  if  the  appreciation  of  the  audience  had 
been  tested  by  vote,  it  is  likely  that  the  opinion  would  have 
been  unanimously  returned  that  the  long-expected  dramatic  en- 
tertainment was  a  decided  failure.  Questioned  respecting  the 
cause  of  this,  after  it  was  all  over,  Tom  Gresham  delivered  his 
mind  as  follows : 

"  The  cause  of  the  failure,"  said  he,  ''  was  flirtation — or  what- 
ever else  you  might  choose  to  call  the  dramatic  entertainment 
behind  the  scenes." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

EOSALLND   MAKES    A   BEQUEST. 

The  events  of  this  night  did  not  altogether  end  with  the 
ending  of  the  play,  for  Madeleine.  Lacy  accompanied  her  home, 
and  remained  an  hour  or  more  discussing  his  affairs  in  all  their 
details,  and  receiving  consolation.  That  the  cheeks  of  his  con- 
soler were  pale,  and  her  eyelids  heavy,  did  not  occur  to  him — 
such  trifles  rarely  occur  to  the  masculine  mind  when  it  is  well 
entertained.  If  the  price  of  a  virtuous  woman  is  above  rubies, 
what  gem  shall  represent  the  value  of  a  considerate  man  ?  He 
is  certainly  one  of  the  rarest  of  phenomena,  and,  let  us  add, 
one  of  the  most  agreeable.  But  among  the  characteristic  virtues 
of  the  stronger  sex,  unselfishness  has  not  yet  taken  its  place ; 
and  Lacy  was  no  more  inconsiderate  than  the  majority  of  his 
fellows.  Besides,  Madeleine  gave  no  hint  of  her  weariness. 
When  he  went  away  at  last,  however,  she  sat  looking  into  the 
dying  embers  on  the  hearth — almost  too  tired  to  rise  and  go  up- 
stairs. Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  Basil  had  not  yet  come  in, 
and  she  leaned  her  head  against  the  deep  back  of  her  chair,  think- 
ing that  she  would  wait  for  him.  So  leaning  she  fell  into  a 
light  sleep,  and  waked  suddenly  to  find  Basil  standing  over  her. 

"Why,  Madeleine,"  he  was  saying,  "what  are  you  doing 


ROSALIXD   MAKES  A   EEQUE8T.  277 

here?     Don't  you  see  how  late  it  is?     You  had  better  goto 
bed." 

"  I  thought  I  would  wait  for  you,"  said  Madeleine,  rising. 
*'  What  makes  you  so  late  ?     Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

She  looked  up  in  his  face,  and,  as  she  looked,  something 
struck  her — some  change  there.  His  eyes  were  shining,  his  lips 
under  their  brown  mustache  slightly  smiling.  When  happi- 
ness touches  us,  it  leaves  an  impress  that  not  even  the  most 
careless  glance  can  mistake — and  Madeleine's  glance  was  not 
careless. 

"  Basil ! "  she  said,  quickly,  "  what  is  it  ?  Something  has 
happened  to  make  you  glad." 

He  laughed  as  he  bent  and  kissed  her — laughed  with  a  sound 
which  reminded  her,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  of  his  boy- 
hood. 

"  What  a  close  observer  you  are  !  "  he  said.  "  I  don't  know 
whether  or  not  any  thing  has  happened  to  make  me  glad — that 
is,  I  don't  know  that  there  is  any  reason  in  my  being  glad.  But 
all  the  same,  you  are  right — I  am  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  breathlessly.  "  You  are  not  going  to 
be  glad  and  not  tell  me  what  it  is  about  ?  Where  have  you 
been  ?     What  has  happened  ?  " 

Basil  did  not  answer.  He  was  e-vddently  averse  to  speaking 
— even  to  her.  It  was  not  only  that  some  things  are  too  in- 
tangible to  be  put  into  speech,  but  he  had  always  with  regard 
to  his  deeper  feelings  been  shy  as  a  girl.  That  some  deep  feel- 
ing was  stirred  now,  Madeleine  perceived,  and  suddenly  com- 
prehension flashed  upon  her. 

"  Basil,"  she  cried,  "  you  have  been  with  Helen  Champion, 
and  she  has  said  or  done  something  to  make  you  glad  !  O  my 
dear,  my  dear,  don't  let  her  play  with  you  !  don't  let  her  amuse 
herself  by  breaking  your  heart ! " 

Many  a  man  would  have  answered  such  an  appeal  sternly, 
for,  v.'hen  the  thrall  of  Circe  is  over  them,  m.en  generally  care 
little  how  deeply  they  wound  those  who  have  always  been  most 
tender  and  true.     But  Basil  did  not  belong  to  this  class.     He 


278  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

saw  liis  sister's  love  shining  in  her  passionate  eyes,  and  he 
knew  that  nothing  which  Helen  Champion  had  yet  given  him 
could  equal  the  value  of  the  affection  which  had  been  his  stay 
through  life.     So  he  made  answer  quietly,  but  kindly  : 

"  I  think  you  are  a  little  unjust,  Madeleine ;  or,  at  least,  a 
little  prejudiced.  Why  should  you  take  it  for  granted  that  Miss 
Champion  means  to  amuse  herself  by  breaking  my  heart  ?  You 
wrong  her  by  such  a  suspicion,  and  you  wrong  me.  I  shall 
never  sink  into  a  plaything  for  any  woman's  caprice." 

*'  Has  she  promised  to  marry  you,  then  ?  "  asked  Madeleine^ 
eagerly.  She  did  not  believe  that  Helen  had  given  such  a  prom- 
ise, or  that,  if  she  had  given,  she  meant  to  keep  it,  yet  she  would 
have  found  it  difficult  to  explain  the  cause  of  her  settled  incre- 
dulity. 

A  flush  came  over  Basil's  face.  "  Not — exactly,"  he  replied, 
"  but  I  have  every  reason  to  hope." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  asked  Madeleine.  "  O  Basil,  re- 
member— " 

He  lifted  his  hand  with  a  silencing  gesture.  "  Hush  ! "  he 
said,  gently,  "  you  don't  understand — you  cannot  tell.  There  is 
no  definite  engagement  yet — that  would  be  premature — but  I 
have  not  only  every  ground  for  hope,  but  every  ground  for  cer- 
tainty. You  must  not  ask  me  to  say  more.  I  am  pledged  not 
to  do  so.     I  only  say  this  to  you — in  confidence." 

Madeleine  did  not  speak  when  his  voice  ceased.  She  sat, 
with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  gazing  into  the  fireplace  at 
the  red  coals,  the  soft  gray  ashes.  If  her  heart  was  full  of  bit- 
terness, who  can  blame  her  ?  She  saw  the  end  as  clearly  then 
as  she  ever  saw  it  afterward — for  she  had  not  lived  with  closed 
eyes  up  to  the  year  of  grace  1870.  She  knew — as  who,  alas ! 
does  not  know  ? — how  man}^  women  in  these  days  seem  to  hold 
their  honor  at  less  than  a  farthing's  value,  how  lightest  of  all 
light  things  is  that  promise  given  and  held  which  stands  charged 
with  so  much  meaning:  in  the  sio-ht  of  God  and  man,  and  how 
careless — nay,  even  how  ruthlessly  cruel — are  those  who  should 
remember  that  she  who,  for  pleasure  or  triumph,  tramples  on  a 


ROSALIXD   MAKES  A   REQUEST.  279 

human  heart  with  all  its  infinite  capacities  for  suffering,  has 
often  a  sterner  account  to  render  than  he  whose  hands  are  red 
with  the  blood  of  his  brother.  O  for  some  voice  brave  enough 
and  strong  enough  to  reach  the  multitude  of  ears  now  closed  by 
vanit}'',  frivolity,  aod  heedlessness,  and  preach  to  them  the  old 
evangel  which  tells  how  a  woman's  chief  jewels  are  purity,  ten- 
derness, and  truth ;  how  she  should  be  gentle  and  yet  strong, 
gracious  in  her  courtesy,  considerate  in  her  kindness,  and  firm 
in  her  constancy  !  Nothing  is  more  true  than  that  she  who 
lowers  herself  in  man's  esteem,  lowers  for  the  time  her  whole 
sex  with  her.  The  instinct  of  reverence  for  womanhood  is 
planted  deep  in  every  true  man's  heart,  and,  so  long  as  women 
are  worthy  of  honor  and  respect,  honor  and  respect  will  never 
fail  them.  But  when  instead  come  scoffing  and  contempt, 
the  hour  which  is  dark  for  man  is  darker  still  for  them.  With 
their  own  hands  they  have  torn  the  crowns  from  their  brow, 
and  descended  from  the  thrones  where  God  himself  placed 
them. 

These  thoughts  came  to  Madeleine,  as  they  had  come  often 
before — not  connectedly,  but  tumultuously  and  dimly,  with  the 
sharp  pang  of  personal  sorrow  stirring  through  them.  She  knew 
Basil's  nature  so  well — knew  it  by  its  very  likeness  to  her  own — 
and  she  felt  that  there  was  no  material  in  him  for  the  light  and 
careless  lover  who  is  fit  subject  for  a  coquette's  amusement.  But 
there  was  nothing  to  be  said  or  done.  He  must  "  dree  his  weird," 
as  the  Scotch  say;  and  learn,  as  many  a  man  has  learned  before, 

"  How  much  is  wasted,  wrecked,  forgot, 
On  this  side  heaven ! " 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  !  "  she  said,  presently,  rising  and  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  You  know  I  wdsh  you  all  happi- 
ness— you  know  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  win  happi- 
ness for  you  I  I  hope  Helen  will  be  true.  If  she  plays  you  false, 
it  will  be  hard  for  me  to  forgive  her  !  " 

"  Wait  until  she  has  played  me  false  before  you  speak  like 


280  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

that,"  said  Basil,  smiling.     "  Now  God  bless  you,  and  good-niglit 
It  is  time  you  were  in  bed." 

But  Madeleine  was  not  destined  to  attain  that  desirable 
place  of  rest  for  some  time  yet.  She  had  scarcely  entered  her 
own  chamber,  and  turned  up  the  gas  dimly  burning  hy  the  side 
of  the  toilet-table,  when  without  any  warning  the  door  sud- 
denly opened,  and  Rosalind — attired  in  a  blue  dressing-gown 
with  a  cloud  of  brown  curling  hair  about  her  shoulders — stood 
on  the  threshold. 

"  I  beg  your  jDardon  for  not  knocking,"  she  said,  advancing, 
after  closing  the  door  behind  her,  "  but  I  thought  mamma  might 
hear,  and  want  to  know  to-morrow  why  I  was  wandering  about 
this  time  of  night.  What  kept  you  down-stairs  so  long  ?  I  have 
been  waiting  and  waiting  for  you  !  I  thought  Gordon  was  never 
going,  but  he  left  an  hour  ago,  and  still  you  did  not  come." 

"  I  have  been  talking  to  Basil,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Why  are 
you  not  asleep  ?     You  must  be  tired." 

"  I  am  tired,  dreadfully  tired  !  "  answered  Rosalind,  sinking 
into  a  chair.  "  I  have  not  been  to  bed,  either,  for  I  dared  not  lie 
down  lest  I  should  fall  asleep  and  not  hear  you  when  you  came 
up-stairs." 

"  And  why  were  you  anxious  to  hear  me  ?  "  asked  Made- 
leine, who  was  tired  herself,  and  naturally  averse  to  conversation 
at  such  an  hour  of  the  night. 

"  Because  I  have  something  important  to  say,"  replied  Rosa- 
lind. "  I  want  to  say  it  to-night  and  be  over  it.  There  is  no 
telling  whether  or  not  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  to  speak  to 
you  privately  to-morrow." 

"  It  is  very  likely  that  you  will  not,  since  I  am  going  to  the 
Lodge  in  the  morning." 

"  To  the  Lodge ! — are  you  ? "  said  Rosalind,  starting  in  a 
manner  which  that  very  simple  and  common  occurrence  did  not 
seem  to  warrant.  "Do  you  think  you  will  stay  long?"  she 
asked,  quickly. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  It  depends  upon  how  much  Mary  needs  oi 
wants  me,"  answered  Madeleine. 


ROSALIND   MAKES  A  REQUEST.  281 

The  other  was  silent  for  a  moment — looking  down  with  brows 
slightly  drawn  together  as  she  traced  with  the  point  of  her  slip- 
pered foot  a  pattern  on  the  carpet.  Then,  without  glancing  up, 
she  said,  abruptly,  "  Do  you  think  you  are  likely  to  meet  Mr. 
Devereux  there  ?  " 

"  Where  ? — at  the  Lodge  ?  "  said  Madeleine.  "  It  is  very 
likely ;  but  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  That  is  wiaat  remains  to  be  told,"  answered  Rosalind,  with 
a  faint  sigh.  "  But  tell  me  first  why  does  he  go  there  ?  Do  you 
think  that  he  will  marry  Mary  now  that  the  fortune  is  hers  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  speak  of  that,"  said  Madeleine — who  felt 
just  then  as  if  she  could  not  do  so — "  Mr.  Devereux's  hopes  or 
intentions  do  not  concern  either  you  or  me." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that,"  replied  Rosalind ;  and  despite 
her  honest  (because  selfish)  anxiety,  a  smile  of  gratified  vanity 
dimpled  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "Perhaps  Mr.  Devereux's 
hopes  and  intentions  concern  me  very  much — that  is,  if  I  choose 
to  let  them  do  so." 

"  Rosalind,"  said  her  sister,  in  a  tone  of  pain,  "  I  should  be 
sorry  to  hear  that,  although  bound  by  your  honor  to  one  man,  you 
have  been  trifling  with  another." 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,"  said  Rosalind,  who  saw  no  further 
good  in  secrecy,  and  who  knew  that  she  could  trust  Madeleine  to 
the  last  extremity.  "  What  I  mean  is  the  simple  fact  that,  if  Mr. 
Devereux  had  won  his  suit,  I  should  have  married  him." 

"  And  you — you  are  not  ashamed  to  say  so  !  "  cried  Made- 
leine, shocked,  revolted,  yet  not  surprised.  "  Call  it  what  I  like  ! 
What  can  I  call  such  conduct  but  utter  want  of  principle  ?  I  sus- 
pected, I  feared,  but  to  know — "  She  stopped  short,  not  because 
words  failed  her,  but  because  she  felt  how  useless  they  were. 
Who  can  explain  the  fine  essence  of  honor  and  faith  to  those  who 
are  morally  obtuse  ?  It  would  be  less  waste  of  time  to  talk  ol 
light  and  color  to  the  blind. 

"  Why  should  I  be  ashamed  ?  "  demanded  Rosalind,  quietly, 
"  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature,  and  to  do  the  best 
that  one  can  for  one's  self — is  not  that  self-preservation  ?     It  is 


282  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

not  worth  while  to  discuss  the  matter,  but  I  certainly  meant  to 
do  the  best  for  mvself.  Of  course  it  is  all  over  now.  I  know 
too  much  of  poverty  to  think  for  a  moment  of  marrjdng  a  ruined 
man — and  Mr.  Devereux,  no  doubt,  will  console  himself  with 
Mary  Carlisle." 

"  Don't  mention  her  !  "  said  Madeleine,  with  sudden  and  most 
unwonted  passion — passion  so  unwonted,  indeed,  that  her  com- 
panion looked  up  amazed  at  the  startling  energy  of  those  words. 
"Have  you  no  sense  of  contempt  for  the  part  you  have  played, 
and  that  which  you  were  willing  to  play  ?  "  she  went  on,  with 
a  ring  of  scorn  in  her  voice  which  vibrated  even  through  Rosa- 
lind's indifference.  "  Think  for  a  moment  of  all  that  we  owe  to 
Mary ;  think  of  her  darkened  life,  her  generous  heart !  Then 
think  that  you  were  ready  to  profit  by  her  great  loss,  to  break 
faith  with  the  man  who  had  been  true  to  you  for  so  long,  to 
— Ah,  I  cannot  speak  of  it  all !     It  is  too  much — too  much  !  " 

"  If  I  had  imagined  that  you  were  going  to  indulge  in  hero- 
ics," said  Rosalind,  "  I  should  have  been  more  guarded  in  my 
admissions.  Consider  my  conduct  what  you  please,  I  know  that 
I  have  only  acted  as  any  one  else  would  have  acted  in  my  place. 
To  come  to  the  point — for  all  this  is  pure  waste  of  time — I 
want  you  to  understand  that  I  now  intend  to  marry  James 
Champion,  and  that  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  see  as  little  as  pos- 
sible of  Mr.  Devereux." 

"  Why  should  it  be  necessary  for  me  to  understand  any  thing 
about  it?"  asked  Madeleine. 

"  Simply  because  you  may  do  me  a  great  service,  if  you 
will,"  her  sister  answered.  "  I  see  that  you  are  about  to  say 
that  -you  will  not,  but  wait  and  hear  me  out.  I  take  it  foi 
granted  that  you  wish  me  to  marry  James  Champion." 

"  You  take  too  much  for  granted,"  said  Madeleine,  in  whom 
indignation  still  burned  hotly.  "  As  far  as  I  know  any  thing 
about  Mr.  Champion,  he  is  an  honorable  man.  I  should,  there- 
fore, wish  him  better  fortune  than  to  marry  a  woman  who  has 
acted  so  deceitfully  !  " 

A  flood  of  bright  crimson  sprang  to  Rosalind's  fair  face.    It  is 


ROSALIND   MAKES  A  REQUEST.  283 

one  of  the  strangest  traits  in  this  strange,  complex  human  nature 
of  ours,  that  we  shrink  from  hearing  that  characterized  which  we 
do  without  compunction.  f 

"  I  did  not  come  to  be  lectured,"  she  said,  rising  haughtily. 
"  Mj  affairs  are  my  own  altogether.  I  am  sorry  I  thought  of  ask- 
ing your  assistance.     Good-night." 

She  crossed  the  floor  before  Madeleine  uttered  a  word.  It 
was  only  when  her  hand  touched  the  doer  that  the  elder  sister's 
voice  sounded. 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  she  said.  "  I  spoke  too  severely — for 
courtesy.     Excuse  me.     Let  me  hear  what  you  came  to  say." 

Rosalind  had  her  own  reasons  for  accepting  this  n^vj  slight 
apology.  Madeleine's  assistance  just  then  was  almost  absolutely 
necessary  to  her.  She  turned  and  walked  back.  But  she  did 
not  sit  down  ag-ain — which  to  Madeleine  seemed  an  encouraaino^ 
si2:n. 

"I  came,"  she  said,  "  to  ask  you  to  assist  me  out  of  a  difliculty 
in  which  I  find  myself.  Of  course  it  is  my  own  fault  that  I  am 
in  it;  but  that,  unluckily,  does  not  help  matters.  As  I  have 
already  said,  I  intend  now  to  marry  James  Champion ;  but  he  is 
jealous  and  suspicious  of  my  flirtation  with  Mr.  Devereux,  and 
if  he  has  the  least  idea  that  I  was  ever  seriously  entangled  with 
him,  he — James,  I  mean — will  certainly  break  ofi"  the  engage- 
ment. Very  likely  you  are  ready  to  say  that  it  would  serve 
me  right  if  he  did,  but  would  it  serve  any  good  end  besides  ? 
I  should  be  left  on  Basil's  hands  for  Heaven  only  knows  how 
long.  Helen  Champion  would  spread  the  story  to  the  four  winds 
— and  should  you  like  all  Stansbury  to  hear  and  talk  of  it  ? 
People  have  always  said  that  the  Severns  kept  their  word.  For 
the  sake  of  family  pride,  I  thought  you  might  help  me  to  keep 
mine." 

"  Family  pride  is  a  good  thing  in  its  way,"  said  Madeleine, 
"but  there  may  be  other  things  to  consider."  Then  she  paused 
to  consider  those  things.  As  it  chanced,  they  all  seconded 
Rosalind's  appeal.  Champion's  long  attachment,  Mary  Carlisle's 
engagement,  Basil's  entanglement — all  would  be  more  or  less  af- 


284  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

fected  if  that  of  which  Rosalind  spoke  came  to  pass.  "  What  do 
you  wish  me  to  do  ?  "  she  asked,  after  a  minute.  "  I  cannot 
assist  you  In  any  further  deception,  but  if  you  simply  wdsh  to 
draw  back — " 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Rosalind.  "  The  favor  you  can  do  me 
•will  be  very  slight  to  you,  though  important  to  me.  It  is  only 
to  obtain  from  Mr.  Devereux  a  picture  which  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  give  him.  James  heard  of  it — how  I  cannot  imagine 
— and  I  was  forced  to  deny  that  he  had  it.  I  said  I  lent  it  to 
you,  and  you  took  it  to  the  Lodge.  Pray  remember  this,  in  case 
the  matter  should  be  mentioned  before  j-ou." 

She  spoke  with  emphasis,  but  Madeleine  was  literally  inca- 
pable of  reply.  Those  to  whom  that  branch  of  polite  fiction 
known  as  white  lies  is  thoroughly  familiar,  cannot  realize  how 
this  upright  spirit  recoiled  from  her  first  personal  introduction 
to  falsehood.  It  seemed  incredible  that  Rosalind  could  really 
have  meant  what  her  words  implied  !  "  You  told  him  what  was 
not  true  ?  "  she  said,  like  one  who  only  half  comprehends. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Rosalind,  who  read  all  the  m.eaning  of  her 
tone,  "  I  told  him  what  was  not  true.  You  can  scarcely  think 
worse  of  me  than  I  think  of  myself  for  having  done  such  a  con- 
temptible thing;  for,  though  I  don't  consider  morals  as  much  as 
you  do,  I  feel  that  a  lie  is  contemptible,  chiefly  because  it  is 
cowardly.  Now,  I  am  not  a  coward,  generally.  But  just  then 
every  thing  hung  on  yes  or  no.  James  was  ready  to  leave  me 
at  a  word,  and,  if  he  had  gone,  I  should  never  have  won  him 
back.  I  knew  that,  just  as  I  know  now  that  if  he  learns  that  I 
deceived  him,  and  that  Mr.  Devereux  has  my  likeness,  he  will 
never  forgive  me." 

"  Try  him  ! "  said  Madeleine,  impulsively.  "  O  Rosalind,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  turn  back  !  You  do  not  know  what  a  road  it  is 
that  you  have  entered  upon  !  How  can  you  endure  for  an  hour 
the  consciousness  that  you  are  deceiving  one  w^ho  trusts  you  ? 
A  lie  is  cowardly,  as  you  say.  Be  brave  :  tell  him  the  truth  ! 
I  am  sure  he  will  forgive  and  respect  you." 

"  Such  advice  proves  how  little  you  know  James  Champion,' 


»> 


ROSALIND   MAKES  A  REQUEST.  285 

said  Rosalind.  "  He  would  never  forgive  or  trust  me  again, 
even  if  I  had  courage  for  the  step,  which  I  have  not.  I  have 
always  been  afraid  of  him,  I  suppose  I  always  shall  be,  and  it  is 
nonsense  to  speak  of  such  a  thing.  All  that  I  desire  of^  you  is 
to  ask  Mr.  Devereux  for  my  picture.     Leave  the  rest  to  me." 

*'  But  why  not  ask  him  yourself  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible  I  have  talked  all  this  time  and  you  do  not 
understand  yet  that  I  specially  wish  to  avoid  him  ?  But  there 
is  no  reason  for  you  to  do  so,  and  you  have  abundant  opportuni- 
ties for  seeing  him  at  the  Lodge.  Pray,  therefore,  get  the  like- 
ness !  It  is  a  small  vignette  set  in  a  locket.  Even  if  James 
were  not  likely  to  speak  of  it  again,  I  should  not  wish  it  to  re- 
main in  his  possession.  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  could  trust  him  not 
to  show  or  talk  of  it." 

"  And  yet  you  gave  it  to  him — a  man  whose  sense  of  honor 
you  trust  no  more  than  that !  " 

"  I  did  not  think  any  thing  about  his  sense  of  honor  at  that 
time.  I  only  thought  how  charming  he  was,  and  that  he  was 
likely  to  obtain  the  Carlisle  estate.  If  the  suit  had  gone  right 
— if  that  horrid  old  man  had  not  died  just  when  he  was  needed 
— there  would  be  none  of  this  trouble.  It  would  be  James 
whom  I  should  discard." 

"  That  will  do  ! "  said  Madeleine.  "  Don't  say  any  more  if 
you  wish  me  to  help  you  !  It  is  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  others 
that  I  promise  now  to  do  what  I  can.  I  will  ask  Mr.  Deve- 
reux for  your  picture,  little  as  I  like  such  a  task.  Is  there  any 
thing  that  you  specially  wish  said  to  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all — simply  I  want  the  likeness.  He  will  un- 
derstand the  rest.  Now,  I  will  leave  you  to  go  to  bed.  I  sup- 
pose, since  you  are  doing  this  '  for  the  sake  of  others ' — no 
doubt  that  means  Mary  and  James— ^t  is  not  worth  while  to 
thank  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all  worth  while,"  answered  Madeleine.  "  Are  you 
going  ?     Good-night." 

13 


2SQ  A  QUESTIOX  OF  HOXOR. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

* 

"tET   ISrOT   TO    TniXK   THE    WOEST    OF   ME." 

RosALDsi)  betook  herself  to  her  virtuous  slumbers  with  a 
mind  satisfied  and  at  rest.  From  her  earliest  childhood  she  had 
known  that  whatever  Madeleine  engaged  to  perform  was  sure 
of  accomplishment ;  and  now,  as  often  before,  she  felt  the  con- 
venience of  possessing  such  a  sister.  If  her  vanity  still  smart- 
ed a  little  at  the  recollection  of  the  humiliatino-  admission  she 
had  been  forced  to  make  with  regard  to  her  falsehood  to  Cham- 
pion, she  salved  it  by  the  thought  that  after  all  it  w^as  no  such 
terrible  thing,  and  that,  in  any  event,  Madeleine  was  altogether 
to  be  relied  upon.  Tortures  would  not  vv^ring  from  her  any 
thing  that  was  told  her  in  confidence  !  thought  the  young  epi- 
curean, laying  her  head  on  her  pillow ;  so  with  one  last  sigh  to 
the  vanished  castle  of  her  dreams,  she  closed  her  fringed  lids 
and  floated  away  into  unconsciousness. 

That  Madeleine  did  not  find  repose  so  easily  was  according 
to  the  nature  and  probably  the  fitness  of  things.  To  the  selfish 
and  egotistical,  nothing  is  easier  than  to  dismiss  all  troubles 
which  do  not  immediately  concern  themselves,  but  there  are 
others  who  seem  born  to  bear  throuo;h  life  the  weiofht  of  vica- 
rious  as  well  as  personal  suffering,  and  Madeleine  was  one  of 
these.  ^Ye  all  know  how  it  is  that  the  world  runs  away,  but 
many  of  us  do  not  know — perhaps  never  will  know — what  bur- 
dens have  been  borne  by  tender  hearts  that  watched,  indeed, 
while  others  slept. 

The  next  morning  the  carriage  from  the  Lodge  came,  as 
Devereux  had  said,  together  with  an  urgent  message  from  Mary 
— delivered  by  Joe,  hat  in  hand,  at  the  sitting-room  door.  Mrs. 
Severn  and  Madeleine  were  there  together ;  Basil  had  gone  to 
the  mills ;  Rosalind,  having  breakfasted  in  bed,  had  not  yet  made 
her  appearance.  "  Shall  you  go  ?  "  asked  the  elder  lady,  glancing 
at  her  step-daughter.     "You  are  looking  pale,  Madeleine! " 


"TRY  NOT  TO   THINK  THE  WORST   OF   ME."  28? 

"  I  was  awake  late  last  night,''  said  Madeleine.  "  Yes,  I 
must  go ;  the  fresh  air  will  do  me  good." 

The  fresh  air  did  her  good  in  a  measure.  It  revived  her 
spirits,  and  brought  a  faint  tinge  of  color  to  her  alabaster  cheeks, 
but  it  could  not  lighten  the  weight  of  trouble  lying  heavy  at 
her  heart.  Should  she  tell  Mary  the  truth,  or  should  slie 
not  ?  That  had  been  the  refrain  of  her  thoughts  all  night,  and 
was  their  refrain  still.  It  is  all  very  well  for  easy-going  peo- 
ple to  talk  of  ignorance  being  bliss :  Madeleine's  proud  spirit 
rose  up  and  said  that  ignorance  was  not  bliss  when  it  meant  the 
love  of  a  true  heart  squandered,  loyalty  given  in  return  for  falsi- 
ty, passionate  generosity  for  mercenary  calculation.  "  How  is 
it  possible  for  me  to  stand  by  and  see  that  man  touch  Mary's 
hand,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  when  I  think  of  the  dishonorable 
part  he  has  played  ?  Yet  how  can  I  speak  the  truth,  to  break 
her  heart  and  kill  her  ?  " 

It  was -a  difficult  question  to  answer,  and,  when  the  Lodge- 
gates  were  reached,  Madeleine  was  no  nearer  answering  it  than 
she  had  been  hours  before.  She  stopped  the  carriage  and  told 
the  coachman  to  set  her  down.  "  Take  the  carriage  to  the  sta- 
ble," she  said.  "  I  will  walk  to  the  house."  This  was  in  order 
to  gain  a  little  longer  time  for  reflection.  But  Gilbert  touched 
his  hat,  and  remarked  that  he  had  to  go  back  to  Stansbury  for 
Mrs.  Ingram.  "  She's  been  staying  at  Mr.  Waldron's  for  two 
or  three  days,"  he  said,  "  and  Miss  Mary  tol'  me  to  go  for  her, 
after  I  brought  you  out,  ma'am." 

"  Very  well — go,  then  !  "  said  Madeleine,  carelessly.  She  did 
not  give  a  moment's  thought  to  JVIrs.  Ingram,  as  the  carriage, 
after  a  sweeping  turn,  rolled  awaj^  Her  mind  was  still  intent 
on  her  problem.  Should  she  speak,  or  should  she  not  ?  There 
was  a  rustic  seat  under  a  beech  that  bordered  the  drive,  and  she 
sat  down  on  that  to  reflect  at  her  leisure.  So  sitting,  she  made 
a  picture  worth  admiring — the  hazy  gold  of  the  sunshine  streamed, 
the  delicate  shadows  flickered,  over  the  graceful,  quiet  figure,  the 
somewhat  sad,  yet  altogether  gentle  and  resolute  young  face. 
She  was  near  the  gates,  beyond  which  stretched  the  open  country, 


288  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

with  the  tall  chimneys  of  the  mills  in  the  distance,  a  tender  skjr 
arching  over  purple  woods,  a  blue  mist  WTapping-  every  thing. 
Her  gaze  being  turned  in  this  direction,  and  her  thoughts  deeply 
absorbed,  she  did  not  see,  through  the  almost  leafless  trees,  a 
figure  advancing  from  the  house,  nor  hear  a  quick  step  crushing 
down  the  gravel- walk,  until  it  gained  her  side — when  she  started, 
turned,  and  faced  the  man  of  whom  her  thoughts  were  full. 

"  Mr.  Devereux !  "  she  said. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Severn,"  said  Mr.  Devereux,  a  trifle 
surprised.  "  Is  it  possible  you  have  walked  from  Stansbury  !  I 
thought  the  carriage — " 

"  I  came  in  the  carriage,"  answered  Madeleine, "  but  it  has  gone 
back  for  Mrs.  Ingram.    I  merely  sat  down  here — to  think  a  little." 

"  Miss  Carlisle  was  expecting  you  when  I  left  her  a  few  min- 
utes ago,"  said  Devereux,  looking  as  if  he  thought  the  last  as- 
sertion rather  a  singular  one.  "  But  the  morning  is  very  beau- 
tiful, and  tempts  one  to  enjoy  it." 

''  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  morning  at  all,"  said  Madeleine, 
quietly.  Then  she  paused  and  hesitated.  Here  was  her  oppor- 
tunity to  execute  Rosalind's  commission.  Should  she  take  ad- 
vantage of  it  ?  After  a  second's  reflection,  she  decided  to  do 
so.  "  It  is  intensely  disagreeable,  but  there  is  no  good  in  defer- 
ring it,"  she  thought.  Whereupon,  she  lifted  to  Devereux's  face 
the  grave,  beautiful  brown  eyes,  with  which  he  began  to  feel 
familiar — drawing  back  a  portion  of  her  drapery  from  the  seat. 

"  Will  you  sit  down  ?  "  she  said,  with  the  courtesy  which  never 
deserted  her.  "  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  I  have  something 
to  say — that  is,  to  ask — and  it  is  fortunate  that  I  met  you  here." 

With  another  woman  Devereux  would  certainly  have  replied 
that  the  good  fortune  was  on  his  side,  but  he  felt  instinctively — 
had  felt,  indeed,  from  their  first  acquaintance — that  such  empty 
compliments  were  ill-suited  to  Madeleine.  He  bowed,  and  sat 
down  at  once.  "  I  am  at  your  service,"  he  said.  "  Whatever 
you  wish  to  ask  I  shall  be  glad  to  answer." 

"  It  is  not  a  question,  but  a  request,"  she  said ;  and,  as  she 
uttered  the  last  words,  deeper  color  came  into  her  cheeks.     She 


"TRY  NOT  TO   THIXK   THE   WORST   OF  ME."  289 

beffan  to  feel  that  this  request  was  awkward  for  her  to  make, 
and  might  be  awkward  for  him  to  hear.  But  a  timely  recollec- 
tion of  his  duplicity  came  to  her,  and  she  went  on  coolly  and 
steadily  enough.  "  It  is  one  with  which  I  am  charged  by  my  sis- 
ter. She  wishes  me  to  ask  you  for  a  likeness  of  herself,  which 
is,  I  believe,  in  your  possession." 

"  There  is  such  a  likeness  in  my  possession,"  replied  Deve- 
reux,  so  much  astonished  that  he  could  do  no  more  than  merely 
assent.  "  What  next  ?  "  he  said  to  himself,  mentally.  "  I  under- 
stood that  Miss  Severn  was  kind  enough  to  give  the  picture  to 
me,  else  I  should  not  have  retained  it  so  long,"  he  added,  after 
a  moment.  "  No  doubt  my  stupidity  was  in  fault.  I  shall  return 
it  to  her,  of  course." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Madeleine,  "  but  if  you  would  return  it 
to  me,  it  might  be  better.  Rosalind  specially  requested  me  to 
obtain  it." 

"  Certainlv,"  he  answered,  with  perfect  composure.  "  Unfor- 
tunately, I  have  not  the  locket  mth  me  at  present.  Shall  I  send 
or  bring  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  immediate  haste,"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  prob- 
ably be  here  for  several  days.     If,  when  you  come  again — " 

"I  will  bring  it,"  he  said,  as  she  paused.  "  I  am  sorry  that 
Miss  Severn  should  have  felt  any  anxiety  or  annoj^ance  respect- 
ing it.  If  she  had  only  spoken  a  word  to  me  last  night,  or  the 
night  before,  I  could  have  restored  it  to  her  then." 

"  Straightforward  modes  of  dealing  with  difficulties  seem  to 
me  best,"  said  Madeleine.  "  But  many  people  do  not  think  so. 
Perhaps,  also,  you  are  aware  why  Rosalind  might  have  hesitated 
to  speak  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  regarding  her  curiously — as  if  he  wondered 
a  little  what  was  the  meaning  of  all  this — "  I  have  not  the  least 
idea  why  she  should  have  hesitated  to  speak  to  me  on  that  or  any 
other  subject." 

"  You  do  not  know  then  that,  although  she  is  engaged  to 
another  man,  every  gossiping  tongue  in  Stansbury  has  been  busy 
with  her  name — and  yours  ?  " 


390  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  I  had  no  concern  with  the  first  fact,"  he  answered,  quietly, 
"  With  regard  to  the  last,  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for  remark- 
ing that  it  has  not  seemed  to  concern  Miss  Severn  very  much, 
wliile  I  am  thoroughly  well  seasoned  to  gossip — and  thoroughly 
indifferent  to  it." 

"  You  are  a  man — j^ou  can  afford  to  be  so,"  said  Madeleine, 
with  a  half-indignant  ascent  in  her  voice. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  slio;ht  smile.  "  True,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  a  man,  but  since  your  sister  has  more  than  once  explicitly 
said  that  she  was  indifferent  to  it  also,  was  I  greatly  to  blame 
for  ignoring  gossip  on  her  account  as  well  as  on  my  own  ?  " 

"  She  had  no  right  to  be  indifferent  to  it,"  said  Madeleine. 
''No  woman  should  be — and  she  was  bound  in  honor  to  think, 
not  onlv  of  herself,  but  of  the  man  to  w^hom  she  was  and  is  en- 
gaged." 

"  Do  not  consider  me  as  meaning  to  offer  an  excuse  for  any 
thing  wdiich  you  may  think  culpable  in  my  conduct,  when  I  say 
that  I  was  led  by  Miss  Severn  to  understand — though  again  my 
stupidity  may  be  in  fault — that  she  was  not  absolutely  engaged 
to  Mr.  Champion,"  said  Devereux,  with  a  quietness  which  almost 
verged  on  indifference. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  then,  that  she  led  you  to  understand  what 
was  not  true,"  answered  Madeleine.  "You  probably  know  that 
some  women  hold  that  falsehood  on  that  subject  is  less  falsehood 
than  on  any  other.  But  if  she  deceived  yoz^,"  the  speaker  w^ent 
on,  yielding  to  an  impetuous  impulse,  "  did  not  you  in  turn  de- 
ceive one  who  deserved  better  things  at  your  hands  ?  Did  you 
not  offer  yourself  to  Mary  while  you  had  already  made  Rosalind 
believe  that,  if  the  lawsuit  was  decided  in  your  favor,  you  would 
offer  yourself  to  her  f  " 

"  Good  Heavens,  Miss  Severn  !  "  said  Devereux,  completely 
confounded  by  this  most  unexpected  charge.  "  Do  you  know 
what  you  are  saying  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  force  me  to  de- 
clare that  I  have  never,  for  one  moment,  entertained  the  idea  of 
offering  myself  to  your  sister  in  any  event  ?  " 

"  You  did  not !  "  said  Madeleine.     The  words  were  almost  a 


"TRY   NOT   TO  THINK  THE  WORST   OF  ME."  291 

o-asp.     What  was  true  ? — what  was  false  ?     This  new  world  of  • 
assertion  and  denial  bewildered  her,  so  little  was  she  used  to  any 
thing  save  the  one  direct  road  of  honor.     For  a  moment  she 
was  silent — then  she  turned  to  him  almost  passionately. 

"  If  you  did  not  entertain  the  idea,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot 
deny  that  you  made  her  think  that  you  did  !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  am  forced  to  deny  any  thing  of  the  kind," 
lie  answered — and  his  usually  pleasant  voice,  though  still  cour- 
teous, was  very  grave — "  you  do  me  great  injustice  ;  you  charge 
me  (I  am  sure  unwittingly)  with  most  grossly  dishonorable  con- 
duct ;  I  have  a  right,  therefore,  to  ask  what  possible  grounds  you 
have  for  such  a  belief  ?  " 

A  burning  blush  came  to  Madeleine's  face.  She  had  gone  too 
far  to  recede,  however,  and  of  evasion  and  equivocation  she  knew 
literally  nothing.  So  she  answered  the  plain  truth :  "  The  im- 
pression was  left  on  my  mind  by  Rosalind's  manner  of  talking 
when  she  asked  me  last  night  to  obtain  her  likeness  from  you. 
She  made  no  direct  assertion,  but  she  spoke  as  one  might  speak 
of  a  thing  explicitly  understood." 

"  Miss  Severn  did  me  "too  much  honor,"  said  Devereux,  "  or 
you  must  have  misunderstood  her  greatly.  It  is  impossible  she 
could  have  meant  to  imply  that  I  was  ever  her  suitor." 

It  is  doubtful  if  a  man  ever  lived  to  whom  such  a  denial 
could  have  been  more  unpleasant — he  almost  hated  himself  at 
that  moment  for  the  idle  folly  which  had  placed  him  in  a  position 
where  it  became  necessary.  But  that  it  was  imperatively  'neces- 
sary, could  not  be  gainsaid.  The  charge  was  too  serious  for  him 
to  let  chivalry  hold  his  tongue.  If  he  had  not  been  engaged  to 
Mary  Carlisle,  it  would  have  been  another  matter ;  but  now — 
yet  the  glow  which  came  into  Madeleine's  eyes  did  not  look  as 
if  he  had  won  her  belief. 

"  Probably  I  did  misunderstand,"  she  said,  coldly,  "probably 
Rosalind  did  not  imply  that  you  were  ever  absolutely  her  '  suitor.' 
But  you  forget  that  I  have  seen — that  every  one  has  seen — ^your 
conduct;  and  every  one  has  drawn  the  same  inference  from  it. 
I  suppose  a  man  of  the  world  does  not  consider  his  honor  bound 


2d2  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

unless  he  lias  said  in  plain  words,  '  Will  jou  marry  me  ?  — per- 
haps, indeed,  not  even  then — but  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  deny 
that  your  flirtation  with  Rosalind  has  been  constant  and  open." 

"  It  is  certainly  impossible  for  me  to  denj^  that  I  have  passed 
many  pleasant  hours  with  Miss  Severn,  that  I  have  admired  her 
beauty,  and  no  doubt  talked  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  to  her — 
but  I  had  not  the  faintest  reason  for  supposing  that  what  was 
amusement  to  me  was  earnest  to  her.  Had  I  imagined  such  a 
thing  for  a  moment,  I  should  have  been  more  guarded  in  my 
conduct  and  manner,  since  I  have  long  intended  to  marry  Miss 
Carlisle,  if  she  would  marry  me." 

"  And  yet  such  an  intention  did  not  keep  you  from  meeting 
and  flirting  with  Rosalind  he?'e  I " 

Her  voice  was  full  of  scorn,  but  again,  as  on  the  night  before, 
he  felt  the  absolute  impossibility  of  reply.  How  could  he  say 
that  he  had  merely  responded,  in  very  idleness,  to  the  invitation 
held  out  by  the  woman  of  whom  they  spoke  ? 

*'If  you  knew  all,"  he  said  at  length,  "you  might  not  judge 
me  so  hardly.  One  cannot  throw  ofi"  the  habit  of  a  lifetime  in 
a  day.     I  meant  no  harm,  certainly  no  dishonor." 

She  made  a  slight  gesture  of  disdain.  "  That  is  an  old  ex- 
cuse," she  said,  "  and,  pardon  me  if  I  add,  a  worthless  one.  To 
mean  no  harm  and  yet  to  do  it — is  any  thing  more  common  ? 
But  it  is  useless  to  talk  of  this  " — she  rose  as  she  spoke — "  of 
course  you  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  have  amused  your- 
self with  Rosalind  (who  in  turn  was  betraying  the  trust  of  an 
honorable  man),  even  while  you  were  endeavoring  to  arrange  a 
marriage  of  convenience  with  my  poor  Mary.  If  one  does  not 
see  these  things,  they  can  hardly  be  made  clear.  Good-morning, 
Mr.  Devereux." 

"  May  I  detain  you  for  a  moment  ?  "  asked  Devereux.  He, 
too,  had  risen  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  road,  with  the 
sunshine  falling  in  patches  of  gold  on  his  uncovered  blond  head. 

*'  Is  there  any  reason  why  you  should  do  so  ? "  answered 
Madeleine,  pausing  reluctantly. 

"  I  think  I  may  say  that  there  is  a  reason,  unless  you  have 


"TRY  NOT  TO   THINK  THE    WORST   OF  ME."  293 

forgotten  that  I  asked  you  last  night  if  I  might  not  hope  to  ex- 
plain some  of  the  things  which  prejudice  you  against  me." 

"  Why  should  you  wish  to  explain  them  ? — what  does  my 
prejudice  matter  to  you  ?  " 

"  It  matters  more  than  you  think,  perhaps.  I  should  like  to 
win  your  good  opinion :  I  should  like  you  to  believe  that  I  am 
neither  the  dishonorable  flirt  nor  the  mercenary  adventurer  you 
fancy  me  to  be." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  believe  good  of  you — on  Mary's 
account,"  she  said,  a  little  wistfully.  "  I  told  you,  when  you 
found  me  here,  that  I  had  sat  down  to  think.  My  thoughts 
took  the  form  of  a  question — I  was  debating  whether  I  should 
or  should  not  tell  Mary  what  I  conceived  to  be  the  truth  with  re- 
gard to  your  character." 

"  Meaning  your  own  opinion  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  own  opinion — together  with  the  apparent  testi- 
mony of  circumstances." 

"  And  what  was  your  decision  ?  " 

"  I  had  formed  none.  You  may  understand  that  it  was  not  a 
question  easy  to  decide." 

"  I  understand  that  it  mi^ht  be  difficult  to  sav  to  Miss  Car- 
lisle,  '  You  are  about  to  give  your  heart  to  a  man  who  seeks  you 
only  for  your  fortune — after  having  failed  to  obtain  it  in  any 
other  way — and  who  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  would  have 
married  another  woman  if  he  had  succeeded  in  winning  his  suit.' 
Was  not  that  the  form  that  your  warning  would  have  taken  ?  " 

She  was  looking  at  him  steadily,  trjdng  to  detect  satire  in 
his  eyes  or  tone.  But  there  was  not  the  least  trace  of  it  in 
either.  The  eyes  met  hers  frankly  and  clearly,  the  tone  was 
composed  and  earnest.     She  returned  candor  for  candor. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  that  was  the  form  my  warning  would  have 
taken.  If  I  hesitated  to  utter  it,  my  hesitation  was  due  to  the 
fact  that  I  feared  to  break  Mary's  heart,  or  end  her  life." 

"  You  would  never  have  uttered  it,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Of 
that  I  feel  sure.  You  never  will  utter  it.  Miss  Severn  ;  you  will 
be  just  enough  to  give  me  the  benefit  of  a  doubt,  and  to  pardon 


294  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

me  for  reminding  you  that,  when  I  asked  Miss  Carlisle  to  marry 
me,  I  had  every  reason  for  believing  that  the  suit  would  end  in 
my  favor.  My  witness  w^as  not  then  dying  oir  dead,  and  even 
your  brother  felt  sure  of  my  success." 

Madeleine  knew  that  this  was  true.  Almost  at  the  eleventh 
hour  Basil  had  been  ready  for  compromise,  but  then — there  was 
the  entanglement  with  Rosalind !  Had  the  latter  been  alto- 
gether wrong?  Had  it  really  never  passed  beyond  the  idle 
amusement  of  empty  days,  which  the  society  of  the  nineteenth 
century  has  agreed  to  call  flirtation  ?  She  looked  at  the  hero  of 
this  flirtation  doubtingly,  and  while  they  were  so  standing,  the 
roll  of  approaching  carriage- wheels  was  heard.  Glancing  round, 
she  spoke  quickly : 

"  I  must  go.  Yo.nder  is  the  carriage  returning  from  Stans- 
bury  with  Mrs.  Ingram.  Mary  will  wonder  what  keeps  me.  If 
I  have  judged  you  too  hastily  or  too  harshly,  I  am  sorry.  But  I 
was  thinking  of  her — altogether  of  her !  I  know  her  so  well,  I 
love  her  so  dearly.  Ah,  if  I  could  make  j'ou  feel  how  kind  and 
generous  she  is  !  " 

"  Perhaps  I  know  already,"  he  said.  *'  Not  as  well  as  you, 
it  may  be,  but  still  in  a  measure.  Try  not  to  think  the  worst 
of  me — that  is  all  I  ask  of  you.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  am  an  ut- 
ter good-for-naught,  that  for  years  amusement  has  been  my  end 
and  aim  in  life,  that  I  am  scarcely  w^orth  shooting  if  one  is  to  be 
valued  by  the  good  one  has  done  in  the  world  ;  but  still,  I  could 
sooner  shoot  myself  than  betray  such  a  trust  as  Miss  Carlisle 
has  given  me,  or  try  to  win  the  love  of  a  generous  heart  as  a 
matter  of  sordid  calculation  !  " 

Clang  went  the  iron  gates  behind  them.  "  I  hope  you  are 
in  earnest,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  will  try  to  believe  in  you,  for 
Mary's  sake.     Again,  good-morning." 

She  bent  her  head  and  walked  away,  her  slight,  graceful 
figure  framed  for  a  moment  by  the  evergreen  shrubs  and  leafless 
trees,  then  passing  out  of  sight  around  the  curve  of  the  path. 
Devereux  watched  her  meditatively  as  long  as  she  was  in  view. 
When  she  disappeared,  he,  too,  turned,  and  with  a  bow  to  Mrs. 


"TRY  XOT  TO   THIXK  THE  WORST   OF  ME."  295 

Ingram — ^Ybo  bowed  to  bim  out  of  the  carriage-window — took 
his  way  to  the  gates. 

It  was  naturally  to  be  expected  that  two  horses  would  reach 
a  given  point  before  one  woman,  saying  that  they  started  from 
the  same  place,  and  that  the  woman  in  question  had  no  more 
advantage  in  the  matter  of  distance  than  Madeleine  possessed. 
Mrs.  Ingram  therefore  disembarked  on  the  steps  of  the  piazza, 
and  waited  there  several  minutes  for  the  pedestrian  whom  she 
had  passed.  The  eyes  of  this  worthy  lady  were  sharp,  and  she 
had  recognized  the  violet  dress,  the  cloth  jacket,  the  pretty  veh- 
vet  hat,  vrhich  made  up  Madeleine's  out-door  attire,  before  she 
reached  the  Lodge-gates.  Immediately  thereupon  she  had  in- 
terroo'ated  Gilbert.  The  dialoarue  was  somewhat  after  this  fash- 
ion,  for  it  has  been  already  remarked  that  Mrs.  Ingram  was  not 
po^Dular  with  the  Lodge  servants  : 

j\Irs.  Ingram  (tapping  sharply  on  the  glass  through  which 
her  charioteer's  broad  back  was  visible).  "Gilbert,  Gilbert !  isn't 
that  Miss  Madeleine  Severn  yonder,  just  inside  the  gates  ?  " 

Gilbert  (who  makes  it  a  cardinal  principle  to  afford  Mrs. 
Ingram  as  little  information  on  any  subject  as  possible).  "I 
don't  know,  ma'am.     My  eyes  ain't  what  they  used  to  be." 

Mrs.  Ingrain  (indignantly).  "  You  do  know  !  It  is  Miss 
Madeleine,  and  Mr.  Devereux  with  her.  What  are  they  doing  ? 
I  suppose  you  can  see  that ! " 

Gilbert.  "No,  ma'am;  I  can't  see  that."  Then  50^?o  voce .* 
"  'Tain't  everybody's  eyes  gets  sharper  as  they  gets  older,  like 
your'n  does ! " 

Mrs.  Ingram,  "  Then  you  must  be  as  blind  as  a  bat — and  I 
never  heard  that  before.  They  are  standing  there  talking — and 
they've  been  sitting  down.  Now,  didn't  you  tell  me  that  j^ou 
brought  Miss  Severn  out  to  the  Lodge  before  you  came  back 
for  me  ?  " 

Gilbert  (a  little  doggedly).  "  Yes'm  ;  I  told  you  so  because 
3-0U  axed  me." 

Mrs.  Ingram  (irritably).  "  Did  I  say  I  didn't  ask  you  ? 
Such  impertinence  !     ^Yell,  did  she  go  in  the  house  ?  " 


296  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

Gilbert  (with  an  obstinate  look  on  his  face,  which  fortunate- 
ly his  interrogator  did  not  see).  "  I  can't  tell  you,  ma'am.  I 
didn't  stay  to  watch  her." 

Mrs.  Ingram  (quite  as  obstinate).  "  Where  did  she  get  out 
of  the  carriage  ?  " 

Gilbert  (conveniently  deaf ).  "  I  brought  the  carriage  right 
straight  along  after  you,  ma'am." 

3Irs.  Ingram.  "  Are  you  stupid  as  well  as  blind  ?  I  asked 
you  where  did  she  get  out  of  the  carriage  ?  " 

Gilbert  (sulkily).  "  Somewheres  between  the  gate  and  the 
house.     I  disremembers  exactly  where." 

Mrs.  Ingram.  "  Ah  !  And  talking,  no  doubt,  to  Mr.  Deve- 
reux  all  the  time  !  But  people  say  Miss  Madeleine  Severn 
don't  flirt.     I  hate  such  slyness  !  " 

Gilbert  (whose  deaf  ears  these  words,  not  intended  for 
them,  reached).  "  You  ought  to  hate  yourself  monstrously,  then, 
for  you  is  as  sly  as  an  old  cat !  " 

This  remark,  of  course,  was  muttered  confidentially  to  Rat- 
tler and  Racer — the  two  handsome  bay  horses — and  a  moment 
later  the  carriage  entered  the  gates.  Mrs.  Ingram's  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles  when  she  bowed  to  ]\Ir.  Devereux,  and  it 
preserved  the  same  benevolent  aspect  as  she  stood  on  the  piazza 
steps  waiting  for  Madeleine. 

*'  Such  a  lovely  day  !  "  she  said,  when  that  young  lady  came 
up.     "  I  suppose  you  have  been  enjoying  it.  Miss  Madeleine  ?  " 

"Not  particularly,"  answered  Madeleine — to  whom,  as  we 
are  aware,  this  was  the  second  time  that  the  beauty  of  the  day 
had  been  suggested — "  I  have  been  thinking  of  other  things." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  I  thought  you  must  have  found  something 
pleasant  to  engross  you  when  I  saw  you  still  at  the  gate  after 
Gilbert  had  told  me  that  he  brought  you  out  before  he  came  for 


me." 


"  I  found  something  to  engross  me,"  replied  Madeleine,  qui- 
etly ;  "  but  whether  it  was  pleasant  or  not  is  another  matter.  I 
suppose  you  enjoyed  your  visit  in  Stansbury  ?  I  hope  Katie 
Waldron  is  well  again." 


MR.  DEVEREUX  EXPLAINS   HIMSELF.  297 

Thej  entered  the  house  together,  and  were  met  in  the  hall 
by  Mary,  who  had  heard  her  friend's  voice. 

"  O  Madeleine,  how  long  you  have  been !  "  she  cried,  re- 
proachfully. "  I  have  been  expecting  you  for  more  than  an 
hour.     What  has  made  you  so  late  ?  " 

"  I  made  Gilbert  put  me  down  at  the  gate,  and  there  I  met 
Mr.  Devereux.  I  have  been  talking  to  him,"  answered  Made- 
leine. "  I  am  sorry  you  have  been  expecting  me.  O  Mary,  how 
well  and  how  pretty  you  look  ! " 

"  Do  I  ?  "  said  Mary,  blushing.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  But 
Aunt  Ingram  is  here,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Ingram,  cheerfully.  "  Here  I 
am — like  the  tortoise,  you  know,  that  overtook  the  hare.  Though 
Miss  Madeleine  was  set  down  at  the  gate  before  Gilbert  started 
to  Stansbury  for  me,  I  reached  the  house  in  advance  of  her." 

"  The  drive  to  Stansbury  is  a  short  one,"  said  Mary,  "  and 
if  Madeleine  was  talking  to  Mr.  Devereux,  no  doubt  time  passed 
very  quickly  to  her.  If  I  had  known  that,  I  should  not  have 
been  impatient,"  said  she,  turning  to  Miss  Severn.  "  I  want 
you  to  know  and — like  him.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  here  !  You 
have  come  to  stay  with  me  for  several  days,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  If  you  w^ant  me,"  said  Madeleine,  while  Mrs.  Ingram 
turned  majestically  and  went  up-stairs. 

"  One  w^ould  think  that  I  was  nobody  ! "  she  said  to  herself. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

MK.    DEYEEEUX   EXPLAINS   HIMSELF. 

Madeleln-e  soon  heard  all  that  Miss  Carlisle  had  to  teU. 
She  was  the  only  person  in  the  world  on  whose  love  and  sym- 
pathy the  blind  girl  could  rely,  or  to  whom  she  ever  laid  bare 
the  thoughts  of  her  mind  or  the  desires  of  her  heart.  She  told 
every  thing  now  with  a  simplicity  that  touched  Madeleine  deep- 


298  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

ly..  As  she  listened,  the  latter  thought  how  right  Devereux  had 
been  when  he  said  that  she  would  never  have  uttered  the  warn- 
ing which  a  few  hours  before  she  had  felt  impelled  to  deliver. 
If  she  had  come  to  the  Lodge  without  meeting  him,  the  first 
tone  of  Mary's  voice,  the  first  glance  at  her  face,  would  have 
ended  all  doubt,  and  showed  her  that,  no  matter  what  the  need 
might  be,  the  time  for  warning  had  passed.  A  little  earlier  it 
might  have  served  some  purpose  :  it  could  do  nothing  now  save 
bring  bitterness  and  struggle  in  the  place  of  peace  and  happi- 
ness. * 

As  for  Mary,  she  suspected  nothing.  The  troubled  look  in 
Madeleine's  eyes  was  veiled  from  her,  and  in  the  voice  that 
spoke  words  of  tender  afi'ection  and  sympathy,  there  was  no 
echo  of  the  disquieted  heart.  Yet  indeed  this  heart  was  not  so 
disquieted  as  it  had  been  before  that  encounter  at  the  Lodge- 
gate.  Despite  every  apparent  reason  to  doubt  Devereux's  sin- 
cerity. Miss  Severn  found  herself  recalling  his  tones,  his  words, 
his  manner,  with  an  odd  inclination  to  trust  him.  After  all, 
Rosalind  mio;ht  have  been  mistaken — or  she  mio-ht  have  mis- 
taken  Rosalind.  Putting  aside  the  flirtation  which  could  not  be 
denied — which  he  had  not  attempted  to  deny — there  might  have 
been  nothing  worse  on  his  side,  there  might  have  been  no  delib- 
erate intention  to  betray  Mary's  trust,  no  more  mercenary  calcu- 
lation than  many  men  make,  and  take  no  shame  to  themselves 
in  making. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  this  partial  consolation,  as  Madeleine 
sat  by  Mary's  side  listening  to  the  words  in  which,  half  uncon- 
sciously, the  young  heiress  showed  all  the  depths  of  her  heart, 
a  sense  of  the  perplexing  nature  of  that  problem  which  we  call 
life  weighed  heavily  upon  her.  Few  are  so  light  of  soul  that 
such  hours  do  not  come  to  them — hours  in  which  we  are  tempt- 
ed to  ask  if  every  thing,  save  indeed  that  which  is  given  to  God, 
is  hopelessly  wasted — ^but  more  than  her  due  share  of  these 
hours  had  come  to  Madeleine  of  late.  Only  last  night  she  had 
been  made  to  realize  how  Champion's  faith  had  been  rewarded, 
how  Basil's  love,  which  might  have  been  the  crown  of  a  true 


MR.  DEVEREUX  EXPLAINS   HIMSELF.  299 

woman's  life,  was  poured,  like  water  on  sand,  at  the  feet  of  a 
shallow  coquette ;  and  now,  with  Mary's  hand  in  hers,  she  heard 
what  seemed  to  her  like  the  same  story — passionate  devotion, 
generous  loyalty  given  for  naught. 

For  naught?  So  Madeleine  thought,  as  many  others  have 
thought,  and  then  it  came  to  her  to  ask  if  any  thing,  which  in 
its  own  nature  is  noble,  is  ever  given  for  naught  ?  Love  may 
be  wasted,  lives  may  be  sacrificed,  talents  may  be  buried — but 
the  love  may  purify  the  heart  in  which  it  exists,  the  lives  may, 
in  their  pain  and  obscurity,  be  like  a  sweet  incense  in  the  sight 
of  God,  and  the  talents  which  are  dwarfed  and  crippled  here 
may  rise  to  heights  of  full  accomplishment  in  "the  white  radi- 
ance of  eternity." 

It  was  long  before  she  forgot  the  hour  which  was  full  of 
these  reflections,  and  of  Marj-'s  sweet,  low  voice  telling  her 
story.  The  dusk  gathered  over  the  world  outside ;  the  rose- 
bloom  of  the  firelight  within  bathed  pearl-tinted  walls,  leaning 
picture-frames,  carved  bookcases,  and  sweeping  curtains.  They 
dined  late  at  the  Lodge,  but  tea  was  generally  served  here,  and 
presently  Albert  brought  it  in.  Having  placed  his  tray  on  a 
small  table  near  the  fire,  he  walked  to  one  of  the  windows  to 
close  the  blinds.  As  he  did  so,  he  turned  and  said,  "  Mr.  Deve- 
reux  is  coming.  Miss  Mary." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mary,  quietly.     "  Ask  him  in." 

Every  one  about  the  Lodge  knew  by  this  time  the  position 
which  Mr.  Devereux  occupied ;  so  it  was  with  a  great  deal  of 
empressement  that  Albert  met  that  gentleman  and  conducted 
him  into  the  library. 

"  Don't  think  me  a  visitor  entirely  without  conscience,"  he 
said,  as  he  took  the  hand  Mary  ofi'ered,  "  but  my  visit  this  morn- 
ing was  scarcely  a  visit  at  all — merely  a  call  of  inquiry — so  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  coming  again  this  evening." 

"  Stansbury  must  be  very  dull,"  said  Mary.  "  We  are  very 
glad  to  see  you — Madeleine  and  L  Don't  think  it  necessary  to 
apologize  for  coming." 

Devereux  looked  at  Madeleine.     It  was  a  glance  half-amused, 


300  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

half-appealing',  which  said  plainer  than  words,  "  How  do  you 
like  the  welcome  bestowed  in  your  name  ?  "  She  gave  a  faint 
smile,  a  gentle,  gracious  bend  of  her  head  in  reply.  "  Since  he  is 
here,  since  the  engagement  is  an  accomplished  fact,  I  might  as 
well  make  the  best  of  it ! "  she  thouo-ht.  Then  she  rose  and 
walked  to  the  tea-equipage.  "  I  hope  you  have  not  been  to  tea, 
Mr.  Devereux,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Devereux  replied  that  he  had  not  been  to  tea,  and  that  he 
was  glad  to  say  so.  He  had  the  gratification,  therefore,  of  drink- 
ing some  of  that  fragrant  beverage  out  of  a  cup  not  much  thick- 
er than  an  egg-shell,  with  the  most  beautiful  roses  painted  on  it, 
and  of  eating  some  of  the  lightest  of  curled  wafers — besides 
other  things  more  substantial.  Mrs.  Ingram  made  her  appear- 
ance, and  rather  to  his  surprise  cordially  shook  hands  with  him. 
This  good  dame  had  no  intention  of  being  behindhand  in  paying 
her  homage  to  the  rising  sun. 

"  Is  there  any  news  in  Stansbury  ?  "  Mary  asked,  after  a  while. 
"  What  are  the  people  talking  about  ?  " 

"  The  failure  of  our  dramatic  entertainment,  chiefly,"  Deve- 
reux answered.  "  Miss  Severn,  did  you  ever  know  any  thing  so 
complete  as  that  failure  ?  The  cause  puzzles  me — unless  it  was 
owing  to  the  fact  that  raw  troops,  no  matter  how  well  drilled, 
will  not  always  stand  fire." 

"  I  think  the  cause  was  complete  demoralization,"  said  Made- 
leine. "  All  the  performers  seemed  to  have  something  on  their 
minds  more  important  than  their  business  on  the  stage." 

"  What  was, on  your  mind?"  asked  Mary,  turning  to  Deve- 
reux. He  glanced  at  Madeleine  with  a  smile,  which  Mrs.  Ingram 
— watching  narrowly  form  her  shaded  corner  of  the  chimney, 
a  place  good  for  knitting  and  nodding — noted  down  in  her 
memory,  a  dismal  kind  of  receptacle  where  she  stored  many 
things  which,  as  a  rule,  were  produced  exactly  when  they  were 
not  wanted. 

"  Miss  Severn  knows,"  said  Devereux,  in  his  pleasant,  careless 
voice.  "  At  least  it  was  in  talking  to  her  that  I  forgot  all  about 
my  part,  neglected  my  cue,  and  kept  the  audience  waiting  fully 


MR.  DEYEREUX  EXPLAINS  HIMSELF.  301 

two  minutes — a  tolerably  long  time  when  one  has  nothing  to  do 
l)Ut  wait." 

"  It  was  worse  for  Rosahnd  than  for  the  audience,"  said  Mad- 
eleine. "  She  had  nothing  to  do  but  walk  up  and  down  the  stage, 
and  show  off  her  train." 

"  Which  she  did  admirably,  every  one  saj-s — while  poor 
Gresham,  having  no  train  to  exhibit,  could  only  fidget  nervously, 
and  direct  imploring  glances  toward  the  side-scenes." 

"  Well,  I  thought  there  was  something  the  matter,"  said  Mrs. 
Ingram,  suddenly  speaking — somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  the 
company — "  I  told  Mr.  Waldron  so,  but  he  said  he  su^Dposed  it 
was  part  of  the  play.  And  you  say  it  was  because  you  were 
talking  to  Miss  Madeleine,  Mr.  Devereux.  How  interested  you 
both  must  have  been  ! " 

"7" was  interested,"  said  Devereux.  "I  am  afraid  to  answer 
for  Miss  Severn." 

"  You  are  very  modest,"  said  Madeleine,  "  but,  if  I  had  not 
been  interested,  I  should  probably  have  noticed  that  you  were 
needed." 

Here  the  conversation  dropped.  Neither  of  them  volunteered 
an  account  of  the  subject  which  had  interested  them,  and,  though 
Mrs.  Ingram  would  gladly  have  obtained  further  information, 
she  did  not  venture  to  ask  it. 

Talk  flowed  idly  back  and  forth  a  little  longer.  Then  Made- 
leine rose.  "  Should  you  like  some  music,  Mary  ?  "  she  said.  "  I 
feel  in  the  mood  for  playing." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  Mary  answered.  "  Ring  and 
have  lights  taken  into  the  drawing-room.  "  If  you  will  leave  the 
doors  open,  I  can  hear  perfectly." 

"  I  will  come  and  open  the  piano  for  you,"  said  Devereux, 
rising  also. 

Knowing  what  he  meant,  Madeleine  did  not  refuse.  "  It  is 
not  necessary,"  she  said,  "  but  you  can  come  if  you  like. — 
Lamps  in  the  drawing-room,  Albert !  " — as  the  latter  appeared 
at  the  door. 

Lamps  having  been  taken  into  the  drawing-room,  and  the  fire 


302  A   QUESTION   OF   HOXOR. 

pushed  into  brightness,  Madeleine  crossed  the  hall  and  entered 
the  room,  attended  by  Devereux.  It  looked  large,  and  ghost- 
like shadows  hung  in  the  farther  corners,  since  the  lights  only 
made  a  circle  of  radiance  in  their  immediate  neighborhood. 
Having  lifted  the  glossy  lid  of  the  piano,  and  run  his  fingers  over 
the  keys  as  one  who  tests  the  tone  of  an  instrument,  Devereux 
turned  to  where  Madeleine  stood. 

"  I  will  stay  and  hear  one  piece,"  he  said,  "  if  you  will  allow 
me.  I  do  not  like  listening  to  good  music  across  two  rooms  and 
a  hall." 

"  How  do  you   know  that   my  music   will    be  good  ? "  she 

asked. 

"  I  know  it  by  your  eyes  and  by  your  fingers,"  he  replied, 
glancing  at  the  last — the  slender,  lissom  fingers  of  the  born 
pianist. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  convince  you  that  you  are  wrong 
as  soon  as  possible,  then,"  said  she,  seating  herself  before  the 
instrument.     "  Give  me  an  idea  what  music  you  like  best^" 
"  I  wonder  if  I  may  venture  to  say  Chopin's  ?  " 
"  Ah  ! " — a  glow  came  to  her  face,  a  light  to  her  eyes — "  do 
you  know  the  Polonaise  in  F  sharp  minor  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  and  should  like  of  all  things  to  hear  it." 
At  once  she  began  to  play.  The  "  beautiful  cold  keys  "  an- 
swered back  splendidly  to  the  white  fingers  that  dwelt  on  them 
with  that  magnetism  of  touch  which,  before  all  things,  is  needed 
to  interpret  the  subtile  beauties  lurking  in  the  harmonies  of  this 
great  composer.  It  is,  of  course,  unnecessary  to  say  that  Mad- 
eleine did  not  render  the  divine  composition  as  a  trained  artist 
would  have  done.  Her  technique  was  defective,  but  she  had  that 
which  is  as  far  above  technique  as  the  soul  is  above  the  body — 
expression.  Devereux,  leaning  back  in  a  large  chair  and  listen- 
ino"  silently,  forgot  to  wonder  at  a  skill  greater  than  he  had 
imagined,  in  the  sense  of  absolute  enjoyment  which  rapt  his 
spirit  in  that  partial  trance  known  to  all  passionate  lovers  of 
music. 

When  the  strains  at  last  died  softly  away  into  silence,  he 


MR.  DEVEREUX  EXPLAINS  HIMSELF.  303 

looked  up,  and  met  the  eyes  of  the  musician.  "  I  knew  I  was 
right,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  jou  would  play  exquisitely.  I  suppose 
I  may  thank  you  for  so  much  pleasure,  though  you  did  not  play 
for  me.     Now — must  I  go  ?  " 

"  Your  appreciation  is  so  pleasant,  that  I  feel  inclined  to  play 
one  more  strain  for  you,"  she  said  ;  "  a  favorite  one  of  mine.  So 
few  people  care  for  this  kind  of  music — not  any  one  whom  I 
know,  except  Basil — that  I  rarely  play  except  for  him  or  for  my- 
self. It  is  true  Mary  likes  my  music  sometimes — but  she  prefers 
dreamy  nocturnes,  and  songs  without  words.  Xlike  the  massive 
harmonies  of  the  old  masters.  I  am  going  to  play  for  you  the 
Largo  A2oassionato  from  Beethoven's  Second  Sonata." 

"  Of  course,  I  felt  sure  that  Beethoven  was  a  god  of  your 
idolatry." 

She  smiled  without  answering,  and  turned  back  to  the  key- 
board. Who  that  loves  Beethoven,  does  not  know  the  strains 
which  poured  out  in  the  rich,  bell-like  tones  of  the  piano  then  ? 
Who  that  has  heard,  can  ever  forget  that  delicate  scherzo  and 
brilliant  rondo  f  Devereux  had  heard  it  often  before,  but  he  was 
charmed  afresh,  and  when  silence  fell  again,  he  said : 

"  If  you  would  only  go  on  !  I  could  never  tire  of  listening 
to  such  music." 

"  That  is  enough  for  the  present,"  she  said.  "  Now  you 
must  go  back  to  Mary.  Tell  her  I  will  play  some  of  Men- 
delssohn." 

"  Before  I  go,"  said  he,  rising,  "  let  me  give  you  this  picture, 
for  which  you  asked  to-day.  Pray,  make  my  excuses  to  your 
sister  for  the  misapprehension  under  which  I  have  kept  it  so 
long.  I  was  on  the  point  the  other  evening  of  asking  her  to 
accept  a  likeness  of  myself,  in  memory  of  our  pleasant  associa- 
tion, but  we  were  interrupted,  and  I  had  no  opportunity  after- 
ward to  do  so.  I  presume  it  is  scarcely  worth  While  to  offer  it 
now?" 

"  I  do  not  think  she  would  or  ought  to  accept  it,"  said  Made- 
leine, "  though  in  these  days  the  giving  and  receiving  of  pict- 
ures has  come  to  have  very  little  meaning." 


304  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  I  do  not  like  the  custom,"  he  said — apparently  forgetting 
the  locket  hanging  from  his  finger,  in  which  Rosalind's  fair  face 
was  set — "  one's  taste,  I  think,  revolts  from  multiplying  cari- 
catures of  one's  self — for  are  not  almost  all  photographs  cold, 
hard,  utterly  hideous  ? — and  scattering  them  broadcast.  How 
much  better  were  the  old  days  of  portraits  and  miniatures  I  " 

"  But  so  few  people  could  afford  those." 

"  And  do  3'ou  think  that  the  majority  of  the  human  family 
are  worth  reproducing  by  means  of  photography  ?  " 

"  Not  in  an  artistic  point  of  view,  perhaps.^  But  if  it  affords 
them  satisfaction — " 

"  Ah !"'/ shrugging  his  shoulders  lightly,  "that  is  another 
question.  Stil],  if  any  thing  could  reconcile  one  to  the  exist- 
ence of  photography,  it  would  be  such  a  face  as  this,"  said  he, 
opening  the  locket  and  handing  it  to  her. 

"  Miss  Madeleine,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram's  voice  at  the  door,  so 
unexpectedly  that  both  Madeleine  and  Devereux  started,  "  Maiy 
says  will  you  please  play  the  '  Lorelei '  for  her  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Madeleine.  There  was  not  a  shade 
of  annoyance  in  her  tone,  but  she  felt  tempted  to  character- 
ize Mrs.  Ingram  very  much  as  Gilbert  had  done.  What  was 
most  vexatious,  this  inquisitive  lady  came  forward,  instead  of 
retiring. 

"  I  can't  hear  the  music  so  well  as  I  should  like  in  the 
other  room,"  she  observed.  "  Is  that  your  likeness,  Miss  Made- 
leine ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Madeleine,  closing  the  locket  and  dropping  it 
into  her  pocket. — "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Devereux,"  she  added.  Then 
she  turned  and  struck  the  first  chords  of  the  melody  for  which 
Mary  had  asked. 

When  Devereux  went  back  to  the  library — which  he  did  im 
mediately,  leaving  Mrs.  Ingram  comfortably  established  in  hia 
vacated  chair — he  found  no  shadow  on  Mary's  brow,  such  aa 
would  have  been  on  the  brows  of  many  women.  "  I  was  glad 
you  were  enjoying  Madeleine's  music,"  she  said,  "  and  I  tried  to 
keep  Aunt  Ingram  from  going  to  disturb  you  ;  but  she  would 


MR.  DEVEREUX  EXPLAINS  HIMSELF.  305 

go  !  It  is  a  misfortune  to  be  curious,  is  it  not  ?  If  two  people 
are  talking,  she  cannot  bear  not  to  know  wliat  they  are  talking 
about.  As  soon  as  the  music  ceased  she  grew  restless,  and 
when  I  said  I  hoped  Madeleine  would  play  that  lovely  '  Lorelei,' 
she  volunteered  at  once  to  go  and  tell  her  so." 

"  Mrs.  Ingram  did  not  disturb  me,"  said  Devereux.     "  I  was 
just  coming  back. — But  Miss  Severn  plays  charmingly." 

"  What  does  not  Madeleine  do  well  ?  "  said  Mary,  in  her 
kind,  loyal  voice. 

Now  and  then,  in  this  rugged,  up-hill  journey  which  men 
call  life,  there  come  pleasant  breaks  in  the  toilsome  way ;  we 
leave  the  dusty  road  for  a  while,  and  our  path  lies  through  some 
green  valley  or  stretch  of  sunny  meadow,  to  which  we  look 
back  afterward,  with  the  fair  light  of  memory  shining  across  it. 
We  know — those  of  us  who  have  passed  that  first  youth  in 
which  one  expects  all  sunshine  and  flowers — that  this  cannot 
last,  that  the  dusty  road  awaits  us  again,  that  there  are  hills  to 
be  climbed,  and  dark  forests  to  be  traversed,  but  all  the  more 
for  this  knowledge  do  we  enjoy  the  rest  and  refreshment  while 
it  lasts ;  all  the  more  do  we  cry,  "  Linger,  O  gentle  Time  ! "  and 
hoard  the  flying  seconds  as  they  pass. 

Such  a  time  came  to  Mary  Carlisle  now.  The  days  which 
followed  were  to  her  full  of  that  rare  and  perfect  happiness 
which,  in  its  very  nature,  must  be  briefest  of  all  the  brief  things 
that  make  up  the  sum  of  our  existence.  The  serene  depths  of 
this  happiness  almost  awed  Madeleine,  and  she  was  moved  to 
say  as  much  to  Devereux  one  day,  after  she  had  been  at  the 
Lodge  nearly  a  week.  It  chanced  that  they  were  alone.  He 
had  entered  imannounced,  as  was  now  his  familiar  custom,  and 
found  Madeleine  in  the  library.  Mary  had  gone  up-stairs  to  rest 
after  a  drive  from  which  she  had  just  returned  :  Mrs.  Ingram 
was  happily  absent.  Miss  Severn  was  sitting  with  a  book  in 
her  hand,  but  she  was  not  reading ;  and  when  she  saw  Devereux 
at  the  open  window — for  December  had  come  with  the  air  of 
May — she  bade  him  enter. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.     "  I  was  just  thinking 


306  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR, 

of  something  I  should  like  to  say  to  you.     I  don't  know  that  it 
will  serve  any  good  purpose,  but  still — " 

"  Still  you  will  give  me  an  opportunity  to  show  you  whether 
or  not  it  may  serve  a  good  purpose,"  he  answered,  advancing. 
"  You  said  that  once  before — do  you  remember  ?  Are  you 
going  to  tell  me  again  that  I  care  only  for  the  amusement  of 
the  hour  ?  " 

.  She  looked  up,  meeting  his  gaze  frankly  with  her  grave, 
sweet  eyes.  "  No,"  she  said.  '^  I  was  not  thinking  of  you— 
at  least  not  directly.  I  was  thinking  of  Mary.  I  was  wonder- 
ing if  you  realize  how  great  a  power  over  her  happiness — I 
might  almost  say  over  her  life — you  possess." 

A  shade  of  gravity  came  across  his  face  instantly.  "  I  think 
you  may  set  your  mind  at  rest,"  he  said,  leaning  one  arm  on  the 
mantel  as  he  stood  before  her.  "  I  realize  the  fact  of  which  j'^ou 
speak,  with  startling  force — with  a  force,  indeed,  which  almost 
oppresses  me.  It  is  not  that  I  doubt  myself" — as  she  glanced 
at  him  quickly — "  that  I  am  not  sure  of  my  own  good  inten- 
tions ;  but  I  am  so  conscious  of  that  which  ycu  have  just  stated 
that  it  makes  me  what  a  woman  would  call  *  nerv^ous.'  I  am 
haunted  by  a  sense  of  responsibility,  by  a  fear  lest  something — 
some  inadvertence  or  ignorance — should  be  the  cause  of  pain  to 
one  who  trusts  so  absolutely." 

"  But  why  should  j^ou  feel  this  if  you  are  sure  of  your  own 
good  intentions  ?  "  asked  Madeleine,  anxiously. 

"  Ah,  why,  indeed  !  "  said  he,  smiling  a  little.  "  Do  you 
never  puzzle  yourself  ?  Perhaps  not ;  I  cannot  imagine  such  a 
thing.  But  the  sooner  you  realize  that  you  are  formed  on  no 
common  model.  Miss  Severn,  the  better.  You  must  not  judge 
your  wavering  fellow-creatures  by  yourself." 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  said  Madeleine,  with  an  attempt  at  se- 
verity which  was  not  very  successful.  "  And  why  do  you  talk 
of  wavering  ?  People  have  no  right  to  waver  where  truth  and 
honor  and  the  happiness  of  others  are  at  stake." 

"  That  is  very  true ;  but  tlie  best-intentioned,  the  wisest  of 
us,  may  blunder,  may  we  not  ?  " 


MR.  DEVEREUX  EXPLAIXS  HlilSELF.  207 

t 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  she,  with  slight  impatience. 
"  Why  are  j'ou  trying  to  divert  my  attention  by  these  surface 
metaphysics  ?  Of  course,  people  must  blunder  now  and  then  ; 
but  the  blunders  of  those  who  are  well-intentioned  and  wise — 
as  you  imply  that  you  are — will  not  be  likely  to  be  very  seri- 
ous." 

He  laughed.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  I  was  very  well- 
intentioned,"  he  said,  "  and  certainly  not  very  wise.  I  only  want- 
ed to  explain  to  you  why  I  feel  the  anxiety  which  you  seem  to 
regard  with  distrust.  If  I  were  mere  obtuse,  I  might  not  feel 
it  so  much ;  if  I  did  not  realize  with  such  painful  clearness  all 
that  rests  upon  me — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  for  a  minute  there  was  silence  in 
the  room.  Madeleine  did  not  look  at  his  face ;  she  gazed  down 
at  the  hands  clasped  together  over  the  book  in  her  lap,  and  felt 
that  she  was  as  far  from  understanding  him  as  ever.  But,  al- 
most unconsciously  to  herself,  she  began  in  a  measure  to  trust 
him.  "  He  is  volatile  and  careless,  and  mercenarj^,  perhaps ; 
but  still  I  think  there  are  good  elements  in  his  character,"  she 
said  to  herself;  and  she  almost  started  when  his  voice  suddenly 
broke  in  on  these  thoughts. 

"  It  is  likely  that  we  may  never  speak  of  this  subject  again," 
he  said  ;  "  therefore  I  am  tempted  to  ask  you  to  listen  to  a  his- 
tory so  personal  that  I  should  not  dream  of  relating  it  to  any 
one  else.  But,  since  to  clear  your  mind  of  one  or  two  misap- 
prehensions may  make  you  more  easy  v>'ith  regard  to  the  trust 
which  has  fallen  to  me,  I  scarcely  think  you  will  blame  my 
egotism  very  severel}'." 

"  I  shall  not  blame  it  at  all,"  said  Madeleine,  looking  up 
again.  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  listen  to  any  thing  you  wish  to 
say.  You  will  not  feel  inclined  to  doubt  my  sincerity  when  I 
tell  you  that  my  interest  in  3^ou  is  very  deep.  How  could  it 
fail  to  be  so  ?  No  sister  could  be  dearer  to  me  than  Mary  ;  and 
day  by  day  it  grows  upon  me  that  her  happiness  is  entirely  in 
your  hands."  g^ 

"  I  feel  it  F"^  he  said,  with  somethina:  almost  akin  to  emo- 


308  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

tion  in  his  voice.  "  I  feel  it  so  keenly  that,  as  I  told  jou  a  few 
minutes  ago,  it  haunts  me.  I  am  possessed  by  such  a  fear  as 
might  beset  one  to  whom  is  intrusted  something  inexpressibly 
fragile  and  costly.  Perhaps,  if  you  heard  how  it  came  into  my 
hands — shall  I  tell  you  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  tell  me,"  answered  Madeleine,  pointing  to  a  chair 
near  her  own.  At  that  moment  she  almost  forgot  Mary :  she 
was  interested  in  this  man  whom  she  distrusted,  yet  wdio  ap- 
pealed to  her  with  such  candid  eyes  and  persuasive  tones.  It 
was  a  stuoly  of  character  such  as  had  never  before  come  into 
her  rather  narrow  life.  Was  he  worthy  of  belief,  or  did  he  de- 
serve only  contempt  ?  Perhaps  Devereux  read  this  question  in 
her  glance.     He  certainly  smiled  as  he  began  to  speak. 

It  is  not  worth  while  to  follow  him.  He  took  up  the  thread 
of  his  story  when  he  first  came  to  Stansbury,  and  told  with 
marked  simplicity  all  that  affected  in  the  least  degTee  his  rela- 
tions with  Miss  Carlisle.  Madeleine  listened  with  close  atten- 
tion. She  knew  all  the  story  as  it  appeared  from  the  other  side, 
and  she  was  prepared  to  detect  the  least  equivocation  or  dis- 
crepancy ;  but  none  appeared.  It  was  only  the  reverse  of  that 
wonderful  tapestry  of  human  events  which  was  presented  to 
her.  It  was  strano;e,  as  Basil  had  once  said,  it  was  "  stao- o-er- 
ing,"  to  hear  that  with  which  she  had  fancied  herself  familiar 
told  from  a  new  stand-point.  And  was  it  that  Devereux  w^as 
plausible,  or  w^as  it  the  power  of  truth  which  so  impressed 
her  ?  Whatever  it  w^as,  she  found  herself  listening  not  only 
with  attention,  but  also  with  credence.  When  he  finished,  she 
met  his  eyes  not  doubtingly,  but  sadly. 

"  My  poor  Mary  !  "  she  said,  under  her  breath. 

He  understood  her  instantly,  and  a  flush  such  as  one  seldom 
sees  on  a  man's  face,  dyed  his.  He  rose  quickly  and  walked 
away. 

Then,  again,  there  was  silence  in  the  room,  unbroken  by  hu- 
man voices.  The  cuckoo  broke  it  by  darting  out  and  announcing 
four  o'clock,  while  Madeleine  looked  at  the  tall  figure  outlined 
against  the  light  of  tlie  window,  and  thought  that  she  had  been 


MR.  DEYEREUX   EXPLAINS   HIMSELF.  309 

inconsiderate.      Wben   Devereux   turned    presently    and   came 
back,  she  did  not  wait  for  him  to  speak. 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  she  said,  in  her  soft,  frank  voice.  "  I  fear 
you  misunderstood  me.  I  appreciate  the  chivahy  of  feeling 
which  has  made  vou  act  as  you  have  done,  and  I  believe  all  you 
have  said  of  your  motiv-es  ;  but — but  Mary — " 

"  I  know,"  he  said — speaking  as  if  by  a  strong  effort — "  I 
understand  ;  but  I  think  you  may  trust  me.  Under  no  circum- 
stances could  I  be  base  enough  to  deceive  or  pain  her — know- 
ingly. On  this  I  do  not  hesitate  to  pledge  my  faith  and 
honor." 

"  And  I  do  not  hesitate  to  trust  you,"  said  Madeleine,  as 
with  one  of  the  impulses  which  occasionally  carried  her  so  far, 
yet  were  always  full  of  grace  and  gentleness,  she  held  out  her 
hand — for  the  first  time  since  they  had  known  each  other. 

Devereux,  who  was  easily  touched  by  kindness,  felt  this  un- 
expected though  somewhat  princess-like  concession  very  much  ; 
and  being  rather  given  to  impulses  himself,  there  is  no  telling 
what  he  might  have  said  or  done,  if  Mrs.  Ingram's  voice  had 
not  at  that  moment  made  itself  heard  in  the  hall. 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  that  you  are  coming  down,  Mary,  for  Mr. 
Devereux  has  been  here  so  long  that  he  must  have  grown  tired 
of  waiting  for  you.     He  and  Miss  Madeleine  are  in  the  library." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  here,"  Mary's  tones  replied  ; 
"  but  he  could  not  have  missed  me  very  much  if  he  had  Made- 
leine  to  talk  with." 

"  There's  such  a  thing  as  too  much  modesty,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Ingram,  solemnlj^,  "  and  that's  your  fault.  Miss  Madeleine 
is  a  very  nice  young  lady,  but  you  are — you." 

"  I  am  very  well  aware  of  that,"  said  Mary,  with  something 
between  a  lauo;h  and  a  siofh. 

She  crossed  the  hall  as  she  spoke — in  her  own  home  she 
never  needed  a  guide — and  the  next  instant  stood  in  the  library- 
door. 

It  was  a  picture  which  neither  Madeleine  nor  Devereux  was 
likely  to  forget.     The  low,  level  December  sunlight  streamed 

14 


310  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

behind,  so  that  her  figure  stood  against  a  background  of  gold, 
like  a  mediaeval  ^aint.  The  delicate  outline  of  form,  the  lovely, 
pathetic  face,  the  fair  hair,  brightened  by  the  glory  falling  over 
it — these  things  seemed  for  the  moment  rather  of  heaven  than 
of  earth  to  those  who  looked. 


> 


BOOK  IV. 

IN   WHICH  THE   WEB  IS   CUT. 


CHAPTER    I. 


"  FOR   BETTER,   FOR   WORSE." 


It  mav  be  remembered  that  at  the  time  of  Rosalind's  en- 
gagement  to  James  Champion,  Mrs.  Severn  had  declared  that 
she  would  not  think  of  allowing  the  marriage  to  take  place  un- 
der twelve  months.  Rosalind  had  submitted  without  protest  to 
this  edict,  not  only  because  it  served  her  purpose  just  then  ad- 
mirably, but  also  because  she  knew  that  it  could  be  reversed  at 
any  time  she  saw  fit.  Her  mother  had  never  in  her  life  opposed 
any  thing  which  she  desired,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  she 
would  begin  to  Ao  so  in  the  present  instance.  The  event  justi- 
fied her  expectations.  When  Champion  said  with  almost  stern 
decision,  "  I  will  have  no  more  of  this  ! — you  must  marry  me  at 
once,  if  you  mean  to  marry  me  at  all,"  she  replied,  "  I  am 
ready  to  marry  you  at  once,"  and  she  told  Mrs.  Severn  that  it 
was  folly  to  talk  of  deferring  the  matter  longer.  Mrs.  Severn 
submitted  in  her  usual  fashion,  the  day  for  the  wedding  was  ap- 
pointed, and  preparations  were  begun  immediately. 

In  these  preparations  Rosalind  was  absorbed,  according  to 
the  custom  of  young  ladies  at  such  times,  and  heeded  little  how 
the  world  went,  so  entirely  were  her  days  taken  up  by  dress- 
makers and  seamstresses.    Six  weeks  is  a  short  time  in  which  to 


o 


12  A   QUESTION   OF   nOXOR. 


prepare  a  trousseau,  but  "  James  "  had  been  imperative,  and  wliat 
must  be  done  generally  can  be  done. 

Devereux  she  had  not  seen  since  the  unfortunate  dramatic 
entertainment.  He  left  Stansburv  ten  days  later  for  his  own  home 
— promising  Mary  to  return  in  a  month  or  two  at  farthest.  Dur- 
ing his  absence  he  wrote  constantly,  and  perhaps  the  keenest  pang 
Mary  ever  felt,  connected  with  her  blindness,  was  when  his  first  let- 
ter was  placed  in  her  hands,  with  all  its  thoughts  hopelessly  sealed 
away  from  her.  She  bent  her  head  over  it  and  burst  into  tears. 
What  could  she  do  ?  It  seemed  to  rob  love  of  all  its  sacredness 
to  bring  a  third  person  here — for  other  lips  to  repeat  Avhat  he  had 
written,  for  her  answer  to  be  uttered  to  other  ears  !  "  If  I  had  a 
mother,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  it  might  not  seem  so  hard ! "  At 
that  minute  her  isolation  pressed  upon  her  as  it  had  never  done 
before,  and  she  sobbed  to  herself  like  a  forsaken  child. 

So,  she  was  still  sobbino-,  absorbed  in  the  bitterness  of  this 
new  form  of  an  old  grief,  when  arms,  than  which  no  mother's 
were  ever  tenderer,  went  round  her,  and  a  voice  which  thrilled 
like  music  said,  "  Can  I  do  nothing  ?  " 

"  Madeleine  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  gasp — for  she  had  no  idea 
that  Madeleine  was  nearer  than  Stansbury.  Then  she  threw  Aer 
arms  around  the  bendino-  neck,  and  cluno-  there  almost  convul- 
sively.  "  You  are  my  good  angel  !  "  she  said,  "  God  sent  you 
to  me  long  ago  to  comfort  my  darkness,  and  you  have  done  it — 
O  Madeleine,  you  have  done  it !  Do  you  feel  when  I  want  you 
most  ?  You  always  come — I  never  wanted  you  that  you  did  not 
come.     And  never,  never  have  I  wanted  vou  so  much  as  now! " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Madeleine.  Then  she  suddenly  saw 
the  letter,  and  guessed  all.  "Do  you  want  a  secretary?"  she 
asked,  with  a  quiver  of  what  the  French  call  larmes  de  la  voix, 
"  You  know  I  am  always  ready." 

Mary  answered  by  putting  the  letter  into  her  hand.  "  Read 
it  to  me,"  she  said.  "I  cannot  read  it  mj^self,  but — God  knov,'s 
best.     And  your  voice  will  make  even  his  words  dearer." 

So  the  duty  of  reading  and  answering  Devereux's  letters  fell 
to  Madeleine  as  a  constant  thing.    She  learned  to  know  the  days 


"FOR   BETTER,  FOR   WORSE."  313 

when  one  could  be  expected,  and  those  days — no  matter  what 
the  weather  might  be — always  found  her  at  the  Lodge.  To  dic- 
tate to  an  amanuensis  when  one  has  never  been  accustomed  to 
such  a  thing,  is  very  likely — in  fact,  is  almost  certain — to  fetter 
one's  thoughts,  and  place  a  curb  on  one's  tongue ;  but  Mary  had 
always  been  accustomed  to  it,  and  she  was,  moreover,  so  entirely 
secure  of  Madeleine's  love  and  sympathy,  that  her  thoughts 
flowed  freely  into  expression.  The  beauty  and  sweetness  of 
these  thoughts  scarcely  surprised — though  they  often  touched — 
Madeleine,  as  she  transcribed  them.  No  one  knew  so  well  as 
herself  the  strength  of  the  blind  girl's  mind,  or  the  nobleness 
of  her  heart.  It  may  be  added  in  this  connection,  that  Deve- 
reux's  letters  impressed  her  very  strongly.  That  he  wrote  with 
a  certain  degree  of  reserve — knowing  whose  eyes  would  read  his 
words — was,  perhaps,  natural  enough ;  but,  notwithstanding  this 
drawback,  it  must  have  been  an  exacting  w^oman  whom  these 
letters  did  not  satisfy.  They  satisfied  Mary  fully,  and  Madeleine 
read  them  over  and  over  again  to  her,  until  she  smiled,  some- 
times, to  think  how  much  of  her  own  life  Devereux  began  to 
occupy.  Unconsciously,  she  found  herself  recalling  his  thoughts 
and  forms  of  expression  very  often.  Without  possessing  Lacy's 
facile  grace  of  style,  he  wrote  an  admirable  letter — polished, 
yet  frank  and  easy  ;  personal,  without  being  egotistical ;  full  of 
a  delicate  spirit  of  tenderness,  which  was  always  subordinate 
to  good  taste ;  and  finally,  showing  that  rarest  of  all  rare  quali- 
ties, a  tact  which  was  perfect.  "  It  is  not  an  easy  task  which 
he  has,"  Madeleine  said  to  herself  more  than  once.  "  To  write 
to  one  woman,  knowing  that  another,  with  eyes  entirely  un- 
blinded  by  partiality  or  passion,  will  read  his  letters,  to  satisfy 
Mary's  heart,  and  yet  not  ofPend  my  taste — ^how  few  men  would 
be  able  to  accomplish  it !  " 

She  said  as  much  one  day  to  Lacy,  who  shrugged  his 
shoulders  in  a  superior  manner.  "I  read  somewhere,  not  long 
ago,"  he  answered,  "  that  a  great  painter  had  remarked,  '  the 
amateurs  run  us  very  close  so  long  as  they  confine  themselves  to 
sketches.'    What  is  true  in  one  art  may  be  also  said  of  another. 


> 


314  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

In  literature,  as  in  painting,  amateiu-s  run  us  very  close,  so  long 
as  they  confine  themselves  to  letters.  If  thej'  attempt  any  thing 
beyond  that,  however,  they  make — not  to  put  too  fine  a  point 
upon  it — consummate  fools  of  themselves." 

"  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Devereux  has  an  idea  of  attempting 
any  thing  beyond  letter-writing,"  said  Madeleine,  who  was  not 
pleased  by  the  tone  of  this  remark. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  not,"  said  Lacy,  rather  superciliously.  "  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  his  triumphs  will  begin  and  end  on 
drawing-room  carpets." 

"  I  think  )'0U  misjudge  him,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  really 
think  he  has  more  in  him  than  that." 

Her  companion  looked  at  her  amused.  "  Pray  when  did  you 
make  the  discovery  ?  "  he  asked.    "  In  these  remarkable  letters  ?  " 

"  No — yes — that  is,  not  altogether,"  she  replied.  "  Before 
he  left  I  began  to  think  that  I  might  have  been  prejudiced,  and 
judged  him  too  harshly." 

"  I  have  heard  that  few  women  can  resist  his  fascinations," 
said  Lacy,  dryly — for  he  was  one  of  a  large  class  to  whom  the 
praise  of  a  neighbor  is  by  no  means  honey. 

Madeleine  flushed  under  the  imputation.  It  was  one  not  easy 
to  bear  with  equanimity.  "  You  must  know  me  better  than  to 
suppose  that  a  mere  attraction  of  manner  influenced  my  opinion," 
she  said. 

"  I  did  not  seriously  mean  to  imply  such  a  thing,"  said  Lacy. 
"But  as  for  these  letters,  you  may  be  sure  he  regularly  com- 
poses them." 

Madeleine  felt  that  she  knew  better  than  this,  but  she  made 
no  reply,  and  never  mentioned  Devereux's  letters  to  her  lover 
again. 

In  truth,  during  these  days  she  did  not  see  a  great  deal  of 
Lacy.  The  blow  of  his  publishers'  bankruj^tcy  threw  a  cloud  over 
him  which  did  not  lift  as  time  went  on.  Every  one  noticed  it, 
and  Mr.  Lacy  senior  expressed  his  opinion  thereof  in  the  domes- 
tic councils.  "  The  boy  is  finding  out  his  mistake,"  he  said.  "  I 
knew  hira  better  than  he  knew  himself.     He  has  a  fitful  kind  of 


"FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE."  315 

impetuosity,  but  no  stability  or  perseverance  whatever.  Now,  I 
know  enough  of  the  world  to  be  aware  that  to  succeed  in  litera- 
ture a  man  must  drudge,  Gordon  never  did  that  in  his  life,  and 
he  never  will.     Take  my  word  for  it." 

Without  being  aware  of  this  opinion,  Gordon  was  acting  in  a 
manner  which  verified  it.  After  having  seen  all  the  first-fruits 
of  his  toil  shipwrecked,  he  seemed  to  lack  energy  to  begin  afresh. 
He  did  a  little  desultory  work  for  the  magazines,  but  the  poem 
on  which  he  meant  to  stake  his  fame  lay  untouched  in  his  desk. 

"  A  man  cannot  be  expected  to  make  his  best  efforts  when 
he  has  no  higher  object  than  that  of  getting  money,"  he  said 
impatiently  to  Madeleine.  "  It  is  folly  to  talk  of  it.  An  artist's 
mind  must  be  at  rest  from  sordid  cares.  Ever}''  day  I  am  more 
certain  of  that.  To  make  one's  fine  conceptions  mere  slaves  of 
the  lamp,  to  turn  ideal  beauty  to  sordid  uses — could  any  degra- 
dation be  greater  ?  " 

"  It  is  hard,"  said  Madeleine,  with  her  wdstful  look,  "  but  I 
should  not  call  it  a  degradation.  Intellectual  culture  is  not  the 
highest  good  of  life." 

"  There  we  disagree,"  said  Lacy,  positively.  "  I  hold  that  it 
18  the  highest  good.  And  what  manner  of  culture  can  a  man  pos- 
sess, whose  life  is  bound  in  a  treadmill  of  labor  for  bread  ?  Can 
he  be  faithful  to  his  art,  and  aim  only  for  a  high  ideal,  when  he 
has  the  horrible  question  staring  him  in  the  face,  '  What  will 
this  bring  ?  How  will  that  aggregated  mass  of  stupidity,  called 
the  general  public,  like  it  ? '  " 

"  You  are  complimentary  to  your  readers,"  said  Madeleine, 
trying  to  smile. 

"  My  readers — bah  !  Does  any  one  out  of  twenty  understand 
any  thing  of  the  canons  and  requirements  of  art  ?  Yet  the  man 
who  writes  for  bread  must  write  to  be  popular.  Good  Heavens, 
popular !  In  that  case  the  sooner  I  begin  composing  verses  in 
vulgar  dialects,  and,  if  possible,  with  a  little  bad  spelling,  the 
better ! " 

"  Gordon,"  said  Madeleine,  "  you  break  my  heart !  Why  do 
you  talk  like  this?" 


316  .A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  Because  I  see — feel — realize  it  all !  "  answered  he,  beginning 
to  pace  up  and  down  the  room  in  which  they  were.  "  It  is  pressed 
upon  me,  if  not  for  the  first  time,  at  least  more  clearlj  than  ever 
before.  Instead  of  broadening  my  life,  expanding  my  faculties, 
cultivating  my  tastes,  and  altogether  rising  to  greater  heights  of 
mental  development  and  intellectual  culture,  I  am  to  sink  into 
narrowness  and  drudgery  ;  the  mere  idea  haunts  me  like  a  night- 
mare. Again  I  say  that  an  artist's  life  should  be  free  from  such 
necessities  as  these." 

There  was  a  mist  in  Madeleine's  eyes  so  that  she  could  hardly 
see  the  work — some  delicate  embroidery  for  Rosalind — which  she 
held  in  her  hands.  There  was  a  pang  at  her  heart  which  put  a 
quiver  in  her  voice  when  she  said,  "  I  wish  that  you  were  rich — 
I  wish  that  J  were  rich,  for  your  sake." 

*'  Riches  I  should  not  ask,"  said  he,  still  pacing  the  floor,  and 
too  much  absorbed  to  notice  her  tone.  "  Of  course  wealth 
would  be  agreeable — what  doors  of  pleasure  and  culture  does 
it  not  open  ? — but  a  competence  would  content  me.  That 
is  absolutely  necessary  for  true  artistic  production.  One  should 
never  spur  the  mind  to  effort.  It  ought  to  be  able  to  command 
leisure  and  repose." 

"  Do  you  not  think  there  might  be  danger  of  its  lapsing  into 
indolence  ?  "  Madeleine  suggested  timidly,  an  idea  promptly  re- 
pulsed by  the  disciple  of  that  new  "religion  of  culture  "  which 
one  or  two  ardent  apostles  have  preached  so  eloquently  to  the 
world. 

Those  w^ho  are  aware  that  the  chief  article  of  their  creed 
defines  the  first  duty  of  man,  or  at  least  his  first  privilege — the 
progressionists  have  abolished  duties — as  that  of  cultivating 
his  aesthetic  faculties,  will  not  need  to  hear  the  rest  of  Mr, 
Lacy's  argument.  Madeleine  heard  it  oftener,  and  at  greater 
length,  than  she  liked.  The  more  she  heard,  the  more  her  soul 
revolted,  until  at  last  she  spoke — greatly  to  Gordon's  surprise, 
who  had  taken  her  assent  to  all  his  propositions  entirely  for 
granted. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  she  said,  "  that  it  is  bitterly  sad  and 


"FOR   BETTER,  FOR   WORSE."  317 

painful  to  see  an  artist  forced  to  make  liis  ideal  conceptions  mere 
money-getting  drudges,  but  I  think  there  is  something  even 
\yorse,  and  that  is  the  exaltation  of  the  intellect  above  every 
thing  else.  Culture  is  7iot  the  chief  good  of  life.  It  widens  the 
life,  as  you  say,  and  educates  the  appreciations,  it  makes  peo- 
ple accomplished  and  graceful,  and  prepares  them  for  the  keen- 
est and  subtilest  emotions  of  pleasure,  but  it  does  not  touch 
or  elevate  the  spirit.  It  does  not  make  them  unselfish  and  \/ 
brave,  gentle  or  pure.  It  is  the  gate  to  a  new  earthly  para- 
dise which  is  barred  to  the  many  and  open  only  to  the  few.  But  I 
am  sure  that,  if  one  will,  one  may  learn  in  self-sacrifice,  yes, 
even  in  hard  toil  for  what  you  would  call  sordid  ends,  better 
thinii's  than  are  tauo-ht  bv  all  the  aesthetics  in  the  world." 

A  dark  cloud  came  over  Lacy's  brow,  the  darkest  wliich 
3Iadeleine  had  ever  seen  there.  His  lips  curled  in  impatient 
scorn.  "  I  never  expected  to  hear  you  talk  so  like  a  moral  bar- 
barian," he  said,  "  or  with  so  little  regard  to  logical  sequence. 
As  if  culture  makes  people  selfish  or  cowardly,  cold  or  sen- 
sual!" 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  for  a  moment,"  she  said. 

"  I  fancy  you  hardly  know  what  you  did  mean,"  he  answered, 
walking  abruptly  away. 

From  that  hour  the  constraint  which  had  existed  between 
them  once  before  came  back,  deepened  and  intensified.  There 
was  no  possible  room  to  doubt  that  this  was  Lacy's  fault.  Tlie 
sense  of  an  alienated  sympathy  embittered  him,  he  felt  wounded 
in  his  self-love  by  Madeleine's  depreciation  of  that  which  was  to 
him  the  chief  good  of  life,  and  there  were  besides  other  causes 
which  he  shrank  from  naming.  He  did  not  absolutely  say  to 
himself  that  he  had  made  a  great  mistake,  that  he  had  been  fool- 
ish and  hasty  in  tying  his  life  down  to  narrow  possibilities ;  but 
the  consciousness  was  at  work  within  him,  like  a  slow  poison. 
Stansbury  and  every  thing  connected  with  it  began  to  oppress 
him.  He  longed  to  leave  it  behind,  and  take  his  way  to  the 
great  centres  of  intellectual  culture,  the  great  world  of  intellect- 
ual strife.     Yet  he   shrank   from  ownino^  this  desire  to  Made- 


318  *       A   QUESTION  OF  HOXOR. 

leine.  To  go  away,  leaving  her  indeCnitelj  bound,  to  wear  out 
her  youth  in  waiting  for  a  success  which  might  never  come  to 
him — he  felt  the  folly  and  selfishness  of  this.  He  could  not  re- 
solve to  propose  such  a  thing,  he  could  not  brace  himself  resolute- 
ly to  work,  and  so  the  days  went  by,  finding  and  leaving  him 
steeped  in  apathy,  depression,  and  morbid  gloom. 

These  days,  meanwhile,  were  not  filled  with  sunshine  to  Ba- 
sil, though  he  bore  himself  cheerfully  as  he  had  always  done. 
No  one  save  Madeleine  suspected  that  as  he  came  and  went,  with 
the  frank  sunshine  of  his  smile  undimmed — the  smile  with  which 
he  had  faced  danger,  death,  adversity,  and  toil — that  his  heart 
was  aching  as  only  the  strongest  and  bravest  hearts  know  how 
to  ache.  That  the  woman  who  caused  this  pain  was  not  worth 
one  throb  of  it,  did  not  matter.  He  had  taken  her  to  his  heart, 
and  it  would  be  her  own  fault  if  she  lost  that  loyal  shelter.  Yet 
there  is  no  denying  that  she  tried  him  hardly.  Her  caprices  and 
flirtations,  her  eager  reception  of  other  men's  admiration  and 
attention,  her  absolute  refusal  to  allow  him  to  make  their  en- 
gagement public — these  things  irked  Basil  bitterly,  irked  his 
pride  as  well  as  his  love.  He  was  fastidious,  to  a  point  of 
sensitiveness,  with  regard  to  what  a  woman  should  be,  and 
those  who  wondered  that,  in  spite  of  this  fastidiousness,  he  fell 
in  love  with  Helen  Champion,  knew  little  of  that  inconsistency 
which  is  a  much  more  prominent  point  in  men's  characters, 
generally  speaking,  than  their  consistency. 

Of  his  enchantress  there  is  little  to  be  said.  If  she  had  been 
seriously  interrogated  with  regard  to  her  intentions,  it  is  proba- 
ble that  she  would  have  laughed,  and  replied  that  she  was 
"  amusins:  "  herself.  Not  even  her  mother  could  draw  from  her 
any  thing  more  definite  than  this.  She  belonged  altogether  to 
that  large  and  far  from  estimable  class  of  young  ladies  who  make 
it  the  business  of  their  lives  to  attract  and  deceiv^e  as  msiny 
men  as  possible,  who  are  spoken  of  by  their  friends  with  an  in- 
dulgent (sometimes  an  exulting)  smile  as  "  dreadfully  fast  flirts," 
and  of  whom  the  American  people  have  the  mournful  satisfaction 
of  possessing  a  monopoly. 


"FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE."  319 

Why  Miss  Champion  had  drawu  Basil  Severn  so  far  into  her 
toils  is  not  difficult  to  guess.  He  was  a  conquest  whom  her 
vanity  was  bent  upon  making  secure.  For  3'ears  he  had  piqued 
and  puzzled  her  by  his  evident  admiration,  and  still  more  evi- 
dent reserve.  She  was  determined  to  subjugate  him  completely, 
and  she  felt  a  throb  of  sincere  satisfaction  when  this  subjugation 
was  accomplished.  What  was  to  be  the  end  of  the  matter  she 
did  not  pause  to  consider.  Why  should  she  ?  The  society  in 
which  she  lived  looked  most  leniently  on  such  trifles  as  jilting, 
and  her  own  conscience  was  not  likely  to  assert  itself  on  the 
subject.  If  he  had  been  rich,  she  would  not  have  minded  mar- 
rying him.  The  Severns  had  been  "good  people"  for  a  longer 
period  of  time  than  the  Champions,  and,  even  in  the  South  of 
18T0,  blood  counted  for  much.  On  Basil's  personal  character 
there  had  never  been  a  breath  of  reproach.  A  brave  soldier, 
and  one  who  in  peace  as  in  war — 

"  bore  without  abuse 
The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman  " — 

this,  and  this  only,  men  could  say  of  him.  Yet  how  little  this 
counts  when  arrayed  against  the  golden  calf  of  the  w^orld's  idola- 
tr}- !  It  certainly  counted  little  with  Helen  Champion.  "  ^^Tiy 
should  I  marry  him  ?  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  He  has  nothing 
that  I  want — neither  money  nor  rejDutation  ! "  Yet  he  was  a 
subject  worth  parading  before  the  eyes  of  Stansbury,  and  so 
poor  Basil's  weird  did  not  seem  likely  soon  to  end. 

Rosalind's  marriage  was  appointed  to  take  place  early  in 
January.  "  I  don't  know  how  I  can  possibly  be  ready  ! "  she 
said  on  an  average  five  times  a  day ;  but  when  the  appointed 
time  arrived  she  was  ready,  and  looked  as  lovely  in  her  bridal 
array  as  the  heart  of  woman  could  desire.  The  marriage  was 
very  quiet — for  Champion  did  not  like  a  parade,  and  Eosalind 
yielded  gracefully  to  his  wishes,  probably  anticipating  some 
future  occasion  when  he  could  be  thereby  moved  to  yield  to 
hers — but,  to  indemnify  society  for  this  quietness,  there  was  a 


320  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

brilliant  reception  at  the  Champion  house  when  the  newlj- 
married  pair  returned  from  a  brief  bridal  journey. 

How  beautiful  Mrs.  James  Champion  looked  on  this  occa- 
sion, it  is  difficult  for  an  uninspired  chronicler  to  tell.  To  those 
who  came  from  the  gi"aj,  overcast  winter's  daj'-  into  the  rich 
drawling-room,  blazing  with  gas,  and  filled  with  the  fragrance 
of  flowers,  she  seemed  a  vision  fitted  to  dazzle,  in  her  pearly 
silk,  rich  laces,  and  flashing  diamonds.  For  the  glow  on  her  fair 
cheeks,  the  light  in  her  lovely  eyes,  there  w-as  reason  enough. 
The  thorns  and  struggles  of  poverty  were  over  for  her  now — 
ease,  wealth,  indulgence,  all  the  material  goods  of  life  for  which 
she  had  longed,  surrounded  her.  She  might  have  done  even 
better  for  herself,  perhaps,  if  circumstances  had  been  less  ad- 
verse— of  that  she  did  not  like  to  think — but  it  w^as  undeniable 
that  she  had  every  reason  for  content  in  her  present  po- 
sition. 

At  this  reception  a  vague  rumor,  which  had  been  floating 
about  for  some  time  and  meeting  only  with  general  discredit, 
received  authoritative  confirmation.  Miss  Carlisle  intended  to 
give  a  ball.  The  announcement  was  like  an  electric  shock,  and 
Stansbury  was  absolutely  stricken  dumb  with  amazement.  Such 
a  thing  had  never  been  known  before  ;  and  so  much  of  a  recluse 
was  the  blind  mistress  of  the  Lodge,  that  no  other  event  could 
have  agitated  society  so  deeply.  The  simultaneous  elopement  of 
all  the  young  ladies  in  the  town  would  have  been  a  trifle  in  com- 
parison. And  it  was  true  that  Miss  Carlisle  certainly  intended 
to  give  a  ball — an  intention,  it  may  be  added,  which  had  aston- 
ished her  nearer  as  well  as  her  remote  friends.  They  all  ex- 
pressed astonishment,  and  a  few  hinted  disapf)roval,  but  occa- 
sionally Mary  could  be  obstinate,  and  she  was  obstinate  now. 
"  There  is  nothing  too  great  for  me  to  do,"  she  said,  "  in  order 
to  show  my  love  and  gratitude  to  the  Severns.  Rosalind  is 
not  my  cousin,  but  she  is  the  sister  of  Madeleine  and  Basil, 
and  I  will  not  let  any  thing  keep  me  from  paying  her  this  at- 
tention." 

Even  Madeleine  remonstrated,  and  found  her  remonstrances 


"THY   FACE   ACROSS  HIS   FANCY   COMES."  321 

unheeded.  "  I  think  of  j^our  health/'  slie  said,  "  aud  how  bad 
the  excitement  maj^  be  for  you." 

But  Mary  only  smiled.  "  You  don't  know  how  little  I  shall 
have  to  do  with  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  shall  leave  you  and 
Aunt  Ingram  to  receive  the  guests,  and  see  to  every  thing.  Of 
course  I  can  do  none  of  that.  My  excitement  will  be  limited  to 
listening  to  the  music,  and  talking  to  a  few  people.  I  don't 
think  you  need  be  anxious  about  me — my  health  is  excellent." 

"  Then  there  is  all  the  more  reason  for  keeping  it  so,"  said 
Madeleine.  But  she  saw  that  there  was  no  good  in  arguing  the 
point ;  Mary's  resolution  was  taken.  Soon  Jessie,  with  a  corps 
of  subordinates,  went  to  work,  carpets  were  taken  up,  floors 
were  waxed,  a  band  of  music  was  engaged,  and  all  those  in 
Stansbury  who  had  a  claim  to  such  a  distinction  were  bidden  to 
the  Lodge  in  honor  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Champion. 


CHAPTER  ir. 

"  THY   FACE   ACEOSS   HIS   FAXCY    COMES." 

Theee  could  be  no  doubt  that  such  a  compliment  as  this 
which  Mary  proposed  to  pay,  was  appreciated  by  the  Cham- 
pions. It  was  the  first  time  that  the  Lodge-doors  had  been 
opened  to  Stansbury  society,  in  its  collective  form,  since  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Carlisle,  twelve  years  before.  "  Miss  Carlisle  feels 
how  much  she  owes  to  James,"  said  Mrs.  Champion,  majesti- 
cally, to  her  friends.  "  If  he  had  not  defended  her  interest  so 
well,  all  that  great  manufacturing  property  would  have  passed 
away  from  her."  As  for  Rosalind,  the  faintest  possible  sense  of 
shame  stirred  at  her  heart.  It  was  not  sharp  enough  to  cause  her 
discomfort,  but  was  only  a  throb  of  the  same  sensation  that  she 
had  felt  when  the  set  of  jewels,  which  was  Mary's  beautiful  bridal' 
present,  had  been  brought  to  her.  Certaiii  poignant  words  of 
Madeleine's  had  flashed  back  upon  her  memory,  but  she  had  the 


322  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

liappj  faculty  of  putting  uncomfortable  reflections  aside ;  so  she 
wrote  a  charmingly  ajBfectionate  note  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
jewels,  just  as  she  now  prej^ared  to  wear  her  most  elegant 
toilet  to  the  ball.  After  all,  she  had  not  done,  nor  wished  to  do, 
any  thing  for  w^hich  she  needed  to  reproach  herself.  Only  Made- 
leine's overstrained  ideas  could  have  seen  any  reason  why  she 
should  not  have  decided  to  marrj'  Mr.  Devereux  if  he  obtained 
the  Carlisle  property. 

That  was  all  over  now — but  how  charming^  he  has  been !  So 
she  thought,  smiling  a  little  as  she  glanced  up  and  saw  her  love- 
liness reflected  in  a  large  mirror  opposite  the  luxurious  chair  in 
which  she  was  reclining ;  Rosalind  admired  herself  as  calmly 
and  dispassionately  as  an  artist  could  have  done.  She  regarded, 
with  a  gaze  of  thorough  appreciation,  the  brilliant  fairness  of 
her  complexion,  the  exquisite  outline  of  her  naif-turned  throat 
and  chin,  the  rich  sheen  of  her  hair,  the  grace  of  her  features. 
That  a  man  could  forget  these  charms  in  a  day  or  a  month,  she 
held  absurd.  Devereux  had  thought  it  best  to  ofibr  himself  to 
Mary  Carlisle,  with  a  view  to  making  that  very  useful  arrange- 
ment called  mariage  de  convenance^  but  it  was  folly  to  think 
of  his  being  in  love  with  a  woman  who  was  scarcely  pretty,  and 
blind.  That  his  sentiments  did  not  concern  her  in  the  least,  Mrs, 
James  Champion  was  fully  aware;  nevertheless  she  amused 
herself  by  speculating  upon  them,  and  felt  that  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  exhibit  her  beauty,  her  wealth,  her  satisfaction  and  happi- 
ness before  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  had  been  so  wretched  as  to 
lose  her. 

It  chanced  that  while  these  thoughts  were  passing  through 
her  mind,  the  man  who  had  suffered  this  bereavement  left 
the  Stansbury  Hotel,  and  took  his  way  down  the  street 
with  an  elasticity  of  step  and  healthfulness  of  general  ajDpear- 
ance  which  did  not  indicate  any  very  serious  disorder  of  the 
heart.  He  walked  for  three  or  four  squares  before  he  came  to  a 
corner  where  the  streets  divero-ed — one  leading:  in  the  direction 
of  the  Lodge,  the  other  toward  the  Severn  house.  Here  he 
paused  for  an  instant,  seemed  to  debate  a  question  in  his  mind, 


"THY  FACE  ACROSS   HIS  FANCY   COMES."  323 

tlien  turned  sliaq^ly,  like  one  who  has  decided  a  point,  and  took 
the  latter  direction. 

A  further  walk  of  less  than  two  blocks  brought  him  to  the 
Severn  gate.  Here  he  was  met  by  a  member  of  the  family  who 
always  made  a  point  of  meeting  strangers  and  escorting  them  to 
the  house.  This  was  Lance,  the  great  St.  Bernard  dog.  Dogs 
have  a  finer  instinct  than  people,  with  regard  to  those  who  like 
them,  and  when  Devereux  said,  "  Lance,  old  fellow !  how  do 
you  do  ?  "  Lance  responded  by  leaping  and  fawning  upon  him, 
as  if  he  had  recovered  a  dear  and  long-lost  companion  of  his 
youth.  "  By  Jove  !  "  said  Devereux,  to  himself,  "  it  is  pleasant 
to  be  greeted  affectionately  even  by  a  dog.  Now  that  I  think 
of  it,  you  were  my  first  acquaintance  in  this  household,  Lance  ! 
How  well  I  remember  that  first  evening  when  I  stopped  and 
patted  you  over  the  gate  !  " 

Lance  seemed  to  remember  it  also,  for,  with  many  demonstra- 
tions of  cordial  feeling,  he  accompanied  his  friend  to  the  house, 
and  stood  by  while  he  rang  the  door-bell. 

It  was  answered  by  Ann,  who,  wondering  within  herself 
what  had  brought  Mr.  Devereux  back  now  Miss  Rosalind  was 
married,  received  his  card,  answered  his  inquiry  for  Miss  Severn 
by  saying  she  was  at  home,  and  ushered  him  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

Left  here,  with  the  door  closed  so  that  Lance  could  not  enter, 
he  looked  around,  half  unconsciously,  for  some  traces  of  Made- 
leine. They  were  not  difficult  to  find.  Everywhere  signs  of 
her  habitual  presence  were  manifest,  and  the  whole  room  was 
pervaded  by  that  grace  of  arrangement  which  with  some  women 
is  at  once  a  gift  and  an  art.  On  a  book-covered  table  stood  a 
tall,  slender  glass  containing  a  small  bouquet  of  those  flowers 
which  are  the  first  heralds  of  spring.  Devereux  had  forgotten 
that  February  was  at  hand,  until  their  delicate  beauty  and  still 
more  delicate  fragrance  attracted  his  attention.  Half  a  dozen 
white  hj-acinths,  a  white  narcissus,  two  or  three  Fair  Maids  of 
February  (iris),  violets,  crocuses,  some  golden,  others  daintily 
stippled  with  purple — a  bit  of  early  honeysuckle,  and  a  spray  or 


324  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOK 

two  of  pyrus-japonica,  with  its  deep  crimson  buds  and  blossoms — 
these  were  all,  but  no  gorgeous  array  of  hot-house  flowers  could 
have  seemed  more  fair.  He  appropriated  several  of  the  violets, 
which  he  was  endeavoring  to  pin  in  his  button-hole,  when  the 
door  opened  and  Madeleine  entered. 

How  fair  she  was !  what  gracious  sweetness  in  her  eyes  and 
smile !  These  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  his  mind 
as  he  turned,  and  she  came  forward. 

"  This  is  a  very  pleasant  surprise,  Mr.  Devereux,"  she  said. 
"  When  did  you  reach  Stansbury,  and  how  do  you  do  ?  " 

*'  I  reached  here  on  an  early  train  this  morning,"  he  answered, 
conscious  of  a  well-defined  pleasure  in  clasping  her  hand  and 
meeting  the  full,  serene  lustre  of  her  glance.  "  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  again.     I  hope  you  have  been  well." 

"  I  ? — oh,  yes,"  she  replied.  "  Very  well  indeed,  xlnd  Mary  ? 
Have  you  seen  Mary  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  Lodge,  but  I  stopped  to 
see  you — thinking  you  might  tell  me  all  about  her." 

He  added  the  last  clause  rather  in  the  tone  of  one  who  had 
meant  to  say  something  else,  but,  if  Madeleine  noticed  this,  she 
gave  no  indication  of  having  done  so.  As  she  sat  down,  she  an- 
swered : 

"  Mary  is  as  well  as  possible,  and  in  better  spirits  than  I  have 
ever  seen  her.  She  will  be  very  glad  that  you  have  come — all 
the  more  glad  because  she  is  not  expecting  you.  In  your  last 
letter  you  did  not  speak  of  coming  so  soon." 

"No — I  changed  my  mind  after  writing  that  letter,  and  de- 
cided to  come  at  once.  There  was  nothing  in  particular  to  detain 
me  away,  and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  be  here  as  elsewhere." 

"  In  that  case,  perhaps  a  little  better  here  than  elsewhere," 
said  Madeleine,  smiling,  "  since  at  least  you  may  feel  that  your 
society  is  a  great  pleasure  and  satisfaction  to  Mary." 

"  Yes,  that  is  something,"  said  he.  "  Indeed,  it  ought  to  be 
a  great  deal  to  one  so  good-for-nothing  as  myself.  I  wonder  if 
you  would  despise  me.  Miss  Severn,  if  you  knew  hoAV  idle  and 
aimless  my  life  is — and  has  been  for  many  years  ?  " 


"THY  FACE  ACROSS  HIS   FANCY   COMES."  325 

"Despise  jou — surely  not!"  said  Madeleine.  "But  why 
should  your  life  be  idle  and  aimless  ?  why  should  any  one's  life 
be  so  in  a  world  full  of  work  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  such  a  question  is  far  more  easily 
asked  than  answered  ?  There  ere  some  fortunate  people  who 
have  no  difficulty  about  their  vocation  in  life.  They  have  a 
marked  talent  or  aptitude  for  something  in  particular.  There 
are  others  who  are  a  jDuzzle  to  themselves  and  their  friends,  and 
who  have  no  special  gift  for  any  thing  w^hatever.  To  that  class 
I  belong." 

"  People  do  not  always  find  out  their  gifts  at  once,"  said 
Madeleine.  "  Nothing  is  more  marked,  I  think,  than  the  igno- 
rance which  many  of  us  display  with  regard  to  our  own  capa- 
bilities. Vie  stumble  into  the  right  path  at  last,  after  many 
blunders  and  failures." 

"  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  stumble  into  mine,"  said  Devereux. 
"  I  shall  probably  go  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  idle,  aimless, 
useless,  as  I  am  now  !  There  was  but  one  chance  for  me — that 
was  the  chance  of  becoming  a  poor  man." 

"  Which  you  never  will  become." 

"  Not  likely."  He  spoke  with  what  seemed  an  accent  of 
honest  despondency^  "  But  if  it  could  be — shall  I  tell  you  what 
I  would  do  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  tell  me  by  all  means.  I  like  castles  in  the  air,  even 
though  I  have  my  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of  building  them." 

"  I  should  go  to  the  "SYest — to  Colorado — and  practise  my 
profession.  You  look  surprised.  Perhaps  you  never  suspected 
that  I  have  a  profession  ?  1  have,  however,  studied  law,  and 
not  long  ago  a  friend  who  obtained  his  license  at  the  same  time 
that  I  did — one  of  the  most  brilliant  men  I  know — WTote  to  me 
from  Denver,  urging  me  to  come  there,  and  offering  me  a  part- 
nership in  a  practice  which  is  already  large  and  lucrative.  You 
see  while  I  have  been  idling  in  drawing-rooms  and  ballrooms, 
he  has  been  working,  and,  hearing  of  my  reverses  of  fortune, 
be  wrote,  making  this  kind  and  generous  proposal.  It  is  one 
which  I  should  accept  at  once,  if  it  were  not  for  Mary.     I  have 


326  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

even  thought  of  accepting  it  under  present  circumstances.  You. 
will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure,  when  I  say  that  I  came  here  princi- 
pally to  ask  you  what  you  think  of  my  doing  so." 

This  statement  did  not  seem  so  singular  to  Madeleine  as  it 
might  have  appeared  to  many  women.  In  fact,  it  did  not  seem 
singular  to  her  at  all.  She  was  so  accustomed  to  serving  as 
counselor-in-chief  to  Basil,  Lacy,  and  Mary  Carlisle — not  to 
speak  of  any  one  else — that  she  felt  unconsciously  that  it  was 
quite  natural  for  Devereux  to  seek  her  advice.  She  looked  at 
him  as  if  she  had  been  threescore,  and  gave  it  simply. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  feel  sure  that  you  ought  not  to  think  of 
such  a  thing.  Your  first  duty  is  to  Mary,  and  you  would  make 
her  wretched  by  such  a  proposal.  Besides,  you  forget  that, 
when  you  marry,  all  her  property  will  be  in  your  hands ;  and  the 
care  of  it  will,  or  ought  to,  keep  you  here  and  give  you  occupa- 
tion." 

"  It  will  never  be  in  my  hands  at  all,"  said  he,  quickly — al- 
most impetuously — "  I  shall  have  no  more  to  do  with  it  than  I 
have  now.  On  that  I  am  resolved.  It  is  the  only  way  by  which 
I  can  avoid  feeling  '  shamed  through  all  my  nature  '  by  the  po- 
sition I  shall  occupy." 

"  Nay,"  said  Madeleine,  "  that  is  morbid.  Will  you  forgive 
me  if  I  say  that  it  would  also  be  foolish  and  unkind  ?  In  saving 
your  own  pride  you  would  wound  Mary  very  deeply.  But  yours 
is  no  uncommon  frame  of  mind.  Many  of  us  feel  that  we  could 
give  without  stint  when  we  are  altogether  unwilling  to  accept." 
She  paused  for  a  minute,  then  in  her  soft  voice  added  : 

*'  '  I  hold  him  great  who  for  love's  sake 
Can  give  with  earnest,  generous  will, 
But  him  who  takes  for  love's  sweet  sake, 
I  think  I  hold  more  generous  still.'  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Devereux,  touched  by  her  manner  even 
more  than  by  her  words.  "  You  are  always  right  and  always 
kind." 

"  What  formidable  flattery  ! "  said  she,  smiling.     "  *  Always 


"THY   FACE   ACROSS  HIS   FANCY   COMES."  327 

right ; '  if  I  did  not  know  better,  how  vain  you  would  make  me ! 
Generally  speaking,  I  am  wrong  as  often  as  my  neighbors ;  but 
in  this  instance  I  know  that  I  am  right." 

"  I  feel  sure  that  you  are,"  he  answered.  He  did  not  say 
any  more,  and  Madeleine  took  his  words  for  a  simple  assent.  In 
fact,  they  had  two  meanings.  He  said  to  himself  that  to  ac- 
cept for  "  love's  sweet  sake  "  might  be  very  easy,  but  that  with- 
out love  it  was  very  much  the  reverse  of  easy  to  do  so. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  apologize  for  having  thrust  so  en- 
tirely personal  a  question  upon  your  consideration,"  he  went  on, 
after  a  minute.  "  Such  an  offense  would  be  wholly  unpardon- 
able if  it  were  not  that  you  must  be  conscious  how  differently 
you  impress  one  from — from  other  women.  Then  you  owe  me 
some  share  in  your  good  offices  for  having  misjudged  me  once." 
•  "  Granted  with  all  my  heart,"  said  she.  *'  But  even  if  I  had 
never  misjudged  you,  you  would  have  every  claim  to  my  good 
offices,  for  Mary's  sake." 

A  slight  change  came  over  his  face — of  what  kind  she  could 
not  exactly  determine — but  he  was  silent,  and  there  followed  a 
short  pause.  Madeleine  thought  he  ought  to  go  to  the  Lodge, 
but  it  w^as  clearly  impossible  to  make  such  a  suggestion,  and  the 
idea  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  him.  He  had  not  yet  spoken, 
when  voices  suddenly  sounded  in  the  hall,  and  Madeleine,  rising 
quickly,  said : 

"  Why,  there  is  Mary  now  ! " 

As  she  spoke,  Ann  opened  the  door,  and  ushered  in  Miss 
Carlisle,  saying,  "  Here's  Miss  Madeleine,  ma'am." 

"  Yes,  here  I  am,"  said  Madeleine,  advancing,  *'  and  very 
glad  to  see  you.  It  is  surely  a  wind  of  good  fortune  which  has 
brought  you  just  now." 

"  I  needed  a  little  fresh  air,  so  I  thought  I  would  drive  in 
and  ask  you  to  go  back  with  me  and  see  if  things  are  as  thej 
should  be,"  answered  Mary,  smiling.  She  was  looking  bettej 
than  she  had  ever  looked  in  her  life,  and  Devereux  was  struck 
by  her  appearance  as  he  had  been  struck  when  he  saw  her  first. 
There  was  so  much  gentleness,  puritj',  and  good  sense  in  the 


328  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

face,  and  the  same  pathetic,  introspective  look  in  the  lovely, 
sightless  eyes.  She  was  dressed  as  became  her  wealth,  in  silk, 
velvet,  and  costly  furs,  and  Ann  cast  an  admiring  look  on  her 
costume  before  closing  the  door. 

Then  Madeleine  said  :  "  There  is  some  one  here  with  me, 
Mary,  who  has  just  come  and  was  on  his  way  to  see  you.  Can 
you  guess  who  it  is  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mary,  turning  her  face  round,  with  something 
like  a  quivering  glow  passing  over  it.  The  next  instant  she  held 
out  both  her  hands.     "  It  is  Mr.  Devereux,  is  it  not  ?  "  she  said. 

Devereux  came  forward  to  answer  for  himself,  and  havinsr 
said,  "  I  will  be  back  presently,"  Madeleine  passed  out  of  the 
room  and  left  them  together. 

An  hour  later  it  was  Devereux,  not  Madeleine,  who  accom- 
panied Mary  to  the  Lodge.  Miss  Severn  excused  herself  from 
going.  "  I  -will  come  out  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "  To-day  I 
cannot  leave  home." 

Mary  did  not  press  the  point :  well  as  she  loved  Madeleine, 
it  was  pleasant  to  think  that  she  would  have  Devereux  for  the 
drive,  and  perhaps  for  the  day,  "  all  to  herself."  So  in  the  same 
pony-carriage  in  which  he  had  once  had  the  pleasure  of  driving 
Rosalind,  they  bowled  down  the  Stansbury  streets,  observed  by 
all  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  see  them,  and  reported  to 
those  who  were  not.  "  Devereux  has  come  back,"  the  former  class 
said  to  the  latter.  "  I  saw  him  driving  Miss  Carlisle  to-day.  He 
has  made  a  good  thing  of  his  lawsuit  after  all — but  how  little 
sense  women  have,  to  play  into  the  hands  of  a  fortune-hunter 
like  that ! " 

The  man  thus  judged,  with  that  charity,  justice,  and  general 
good  sense  which  distinguish  popular  opinion,  was  meanwhile 
exerting  himself  to  repay  the  affectionate  sympathy  and  interesi 
on  the  tender  face  turned  toward  him,  and  for  the  first  time  find- 
ing this  a  little  difficult  But  he  succeeded  in  so  far  that  Mary 
did  not  suspect  the  difficulty,  nor  how  much  his  thoughts  were 
wandering  while  he  talked  to  her.  That  the  fault  of  this  lay  in 
himself  he  was  perfectly  aware.     What  was  Madeleine  Severn 


"THY  FACE   ACROSS   HIS  FANCY   COMES."  329 

to  him  that  her  soft,  brown  eyes,  her  caressing  smile,  lier  low, 
sweet  voice,  should  haunt  him  like  a  spell  ?  He  said  to  himself 
that  he  thought  of  her  chiefly  because  he  could  not  understand 
the  influence  she  had  acquired  over  him.  He  had  been  "  in  love  " 
too  often  in  the  course  of  his  thirty  years  not  to  be  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  signs  of  the  tender  passion,  and  this  bore  no 
relation  to  them.  It  was  something  strange,  new,  and  so  subtile 
that  he  failed  altogether  to  analyze  or  class  it.  Was  it  because 
Madeleine  was  (as  he  had  told  her)  altogether  diff"erent  from  the 
vast  majority  of  other  women,  that  she  interested  and  pleased 
the  taste  which  had  been  rendered  fastidious  by  much  inter- 
course with  coquettes  of  all  classes,  from  the  emotional  and  pen- 
sive to  the  audacious  and  sparkling  ?  The  question  was  more 
easily  asked  than  answered,  but  it  was  certain  that,  in  the  course 
of  a  long  and  varied  social  experience,  he  had  never  before  seen 
— he  had  never  even  imagined — a  woman  so  free  from  coquetry. 

It  was  after  they  reached  the  Lodge,  and  were  in  the  library 
which  wore  to  him  such  a  familiar  seeming,  that  it  occurred  to 
Mary  for  the  first  time  to  wonder  whv  she  had  found  him  in  the 
Severn  drawing-room.  So  mere  a  trifle  as  the  violets  in  his  but- 
ton-hole led  to  this  consideration — or,  at  least,  to  the  expression 
of  it.  They  were  standing  together  before  the  fire,  when  she 
put  out  her  hand  and  touched  them.  "How  sweet!"  she  said. 
"  I  have  been  noticing  the  fragrance  for  some  time.  I  am  so 
fond  of  violets  !     Will  you  give  them  to  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  beginning  to  unfasten  the  frail 
stem,  "  but  you  will  find  them  few  and  faded.  They  rightfully 
belong  to  Miss  Severn,  too — that  is,  I  took  them  without  leave 
from  a  glass  of  flowers  while  I  was  waiting  for  her." 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  keep  them,  then,"  she  said. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Why  should  I?  I  only  wish  they 
were  better  worth  giving  to  you." 

"  I  only  wanted  them  because  you  had  worn  them,"  she  said; 
simply.  "  Thank  you,"  as  he  laid  them  in  her  hand.  "  There 
are  plenty  in  the  garden,  if  you  would  like  some  more.  Jessie 
brings  me  a  bouquet  every  morning." 


330  A   QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

"  You  shall  give  me  some  before  I  go.  In  that  way  I  will 
make  a  profitable  exchange." 

She  smiled  a  little,  and  lifted  the  violets  to  her  face,  but 
when  her  hand  dropped,  she  said,  "  Had  you  been  long  at  the 
Severns  ?  You  cannot  tell  how  much  I  was  surprised  to  find 
you." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  could  have  been  there  more  than  half  an 
hour — if  so  long,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  on  my  way  here  when 
it  struck  me  that  I  could  hear  something  about  you  from  Miss 
Severn  even  before  I  saw  you.  That  is  how  you  chanced  to  find 
me  with  her." 

"  And  you  were  really  on  your  way  here  ?  "  she  asked — not 
doubtingly  but  wistfully,  laying  her  hand  on  his  coat. 

"  Did  you  fancy  otherwise  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  the  hand  in 
his  own.  "  How  could  you  do  me  so  much  injustice  ?  It  was 
merely  for  a  few  minutes  that  I  stopped." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  learned  to  like  Madeleine — as  I  was 
always  sure  you  would,"  she  said,  and  after  this  she  did  not  al- 
lude again  to  the  visit. 

When  Devereux  heard  of  the  projected  ball  he,  like  every 
one  else  concerned,  regarded  it  with  decided  disapproval.  Had 
he  arrived  in  Stansbury  a  fortnight  or  even  a  week  earlier,  this 
disapproval  might  have  proved  powerful  enough  to  nip  the  mat- 
ter in  the  bud,  but  now  it  was  too  late.  Arrangements  were 
made,  invitations  were  issued,  every  thing  was  in  train ;  and  it 
was  with  that  grim  sense  of  disgust,  common  to  the  masculine 
mind  when  not  inclined  for  social  festivities,  that  he  faced  the 
necessity  of  bearing  his  part  in  the  entertainment.  "  If  I  had 
known  of  this,  I  should  not  have  come  until  it  was  over,"  he  said 
to  Mary. 

"You  would  have  been  very  unkind,  then,"  she  answered, 
"  for  I  know  that  you  are  not,  like  some  men,  afraid  of  or  averse 
to  society.  I  count  on  you  to  aid  in  making  the  matter  a  suc- 
cess. And  have  you  no  curiosity  to  see  your  old  acquaintance, 
Rosalind  Severn  transformed  into  Mrs.  James  Champion  ?  " 

"Not  the  least,"  he  answered,  with  a  tone  of  contempt  in 


MRS.  IXGRAM  UTTERS   A    WARNING.  331 

his  voice  which  would  not  have  pleased  that  charming  and  self- 
satisfied  lady,  had  she  been  unfortunate  enough  to  hear  it. 
"  Pretty  women  are  common  enough,"  he  added,  after  a  minute ; 
"  and  besides  her  beauty,  I  do  not  know  that  Miss  Rosalind  Sev- 
ern, now  Mrs.  James  Champion,  possesses  any  attraction  what- 
ever." 

"  Did  you  not  formerly  find  some  about  her  ?  "  asked  Marj^, 
smiling.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  I  remember  hearing  something 
of  that  kind  when  you  were  acting  together." 

"  She  served,  like  thousands  of  others,  to  help  one  pass  time," 
he  said,  carelessly.  "  Beyond  that  I  never  gave  her  a  thought 
— and  never  shall." 


CHAPTER  III. 

MRS.    IXGEAM   UTTEKS   A   WAEXIXG. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram,  solemnly,  "  there  is  something 
I  should  like  to  say  to  you  if  I  were  sure  you  would  take  it  in 
good  part." 

"  ^Yhy  should  I  not  take  it  in  good  part.  Aunt  Ingram  ? " 
said  Mary.  She  did  not  stir  as  she  asked  the  question,  but  lay 
quite  still  on  the  blue  couch  that  threw  her  figure  into  relief, 
her  face  turned  toward  the  open  window  by  her  side,  through 
which  spring-like  air  and  golden  sunshine  came.  She  was  in  her 
own  room,  whither  Mrs.  Ingram  had  penetrated  uninvited,  and 
after  a  little  desultory  conversation,  had  uttered  the  above  remark, 

"  Well,"  said  that  lady  in  reply,  "  there  are  a  good  many 
reasons  why  you  might  not  take  it  in  good  part.  People  are 
not  always  obliged  to  one  for  giving  an  honest  warning.  It's  a 
thankless  duty  at  best,  but  what  is  my  duty  I  was  never  known 
to  shirk." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  asked  Mary.  She  turned 
her  face  now  with  a  slight  contraction  of  annoyance  on  her 
smooth  brow.     It  required  no  small  exercise  of  patience  to  bear 


332  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOK 

witli  this  unpleasant  interruption  to  her  thoughts.  As  she  lay, 
bathed  in  sunshine,  listening  to  the  sweet  twitter  and  soaring 
notes  of  the  birds  which  congregated  on  a  cedar-tree  just  out- 
side the  window,  sliefelt,  though  she  could  not  see,  the  beauty 
of  the  day,  and  her  soul  seemed  to  rise  up  to  God  in  thanks  for 
the  happiness  He  had  vouchsafed  her.  It  is  not  everybody  who 
thinks  of  thanking  God  for  happiness.  Many  of  us  are  like  un- 
gracious churls,  taking  it  as  our  right,  and  never  lifting  our 
voices  save  in  repining  or  reproach.  But  there  had  been  long 
years  in  which  happiness  never  came  to  Mary,  and  now,  when  it 
burst  on  her  like  a  heavenly  aurora,  the  gentle,  devout  spirit 
was  full  of  gratitude  for  this  most  rare  and  precious  of  earthly 
gifts.  "  If  it  is  any  thing  about  Jessie  or  the  servants,"  she 
went  on,  after  a  minute — for  Mrs.  Ingram's  warnings  were 
chiefly  on  this  score — "  I  am  sorry  to  seem  discourteous,  but  I 
would  rather  not  be  troubled  by  hearing  it." 

"  It  is  not  about  Jessie  or  the  servants,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram, 
"  though  I  do  think  that  the  manner  in  which  you  trust  every 
thing  in  their  hands  is  dreadful !  It  concerns  some  one,  however, 
with  whom  you  are  almost  as  much  infatuated,  and  that  is  Miss 
Severn." 

She  brought  out  this  name  with  spiteful  emphasis,  but,  well  as 
she  knew  Mary's  "  infatuation,"  she  was  not  prepared  for  the 
amazement  and  anger  which  flashed  instantaneously  over  her  face. 

"  Madeleine  ! "  she  said,  in  a  tone  divided  between  surprise 
and  haughtiness.  "  Are  you  in  earnest.  Aunt  Ingram  ?  Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  you  venture  to  connect  such  a  thing  as 
warning  with  Madeleine  Severn  ?  " 

"  I  venture  to  speak  the  truth  in  season  and  out  of  season, 
my  dear,"  returned  Aunt  Ingram  in  a  very  sharp  tone ;  "  and 
being  your  father's  sister — though  you  seem  to  forget  that,  and 
prefer  everybody  else  to  me  —  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  tell  you, 
who  can't  observe  things  for  yourself,  that  Miss  Madeleine 
Severn  is  flirting  in  a  very  marked  manner  with  Mr.  Devereux. 
I  saw  it  before  lie  went  away,  but  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind 
to  trouble  you  by  speaking  of  it ;  I  hadn't  the  faintest  idea, 


MRS.  INGRAM   UTTERS   A   WARNING.  333 

either,  that  you  would  believe  me,  but  the  thing  is  so  manifest 
now  that  I  can't  be  silent  any  longer." 

"  I  think  you  must  be  mad,"  said  Mary,  "  or — or  more  ma- 
licious than  I  have  ever  dreamed  of  your  being,  to  come  and 
say  such  a  thing  to  me.  Madeleine  flirting  with  Mr.  Devereux ! 
You  mis"ht  as  well  tell  me  that  there  was  no  such  thino-  as  truth 
or  honor  in  the  world." 

"  You  may  think  me  mad,  or  you  may  think  me  malicious," 
said  Mrs.  Ingram,  who  was  deeply  incensed,  and  whose  very 
cap-strings  shook  with  indignation,  "  but  I  know  that  you  are 
blind ;  and  therefore  I  pardon  your  language.  You  may  believe 
me  or  not,  as  you  like  :  my  conscience  is  clear  when  I  have 
warned  you.  I  didn't  expect  to  be  thanked,  but  it  was  more 
than  I  could  stand  to  watch  those  two  deceiving  you  before 
your  very  eyes,  because  they  knew  you  would  not  see  them. 
Haven't  I  found  them  in  the  grounds  together  ? — haven't  I  seen 
them  looking  and  smiling  at  each  other,  with  you  sitting  by  ? — 
didn't  I  surprise  Mr.  Devereux  giving  Miss  Severn  a  likeness  in 
a  locket  of  which  I  know  you  never  heard  ? — didn't  he  go  to 
see  her  as  soon  as  he  came  back  to  Stansbury,  before  ever  he 
thought  of  coming  to  see  j'ou  ? — wasn't  she  here  with  him  all 
day  yesterday  ? — and  aren't  they  coming  yonder  together  now', 
walking  like  two  snails  and  talking  to  each  other?  Ah,  I  may 
be  mad,  or  I  may  be  malicious,  but  my  eyes  are  worth  some- 
thing, and,  as  for  seeing  such  duplicity  and  saj'ing  nothing,  I 
could  have  died  first ! " 

"You  had  better  have  died  first,"  said  Mary,  with  a  passion- 
ate energy  in  her  voice  such  as  the  other  had  never  heard  be- 
fore. "  It  would  have  been  bad  enough  to  take  such  a  story  to 
any  one,  but  to  bring  it  to  me — me  who  am  blind — oh,  it  is 
base  and  cruel !  But  I  do  not  believe  it,  not  one  word  of  it ! 
Remember  that.  I  would  trust  my  life,  my  honor,  my  love,  all 
to  Madeleine,  and  I  ha}:e  trusted  them  to  Mr.  Devereux.  Go. 
I  do  not  wish  to  hear  any  more.  You  talk  a  great  deal  of 
your  Bible,  but  I  wonder  if  you  ever  read  it !  If  so,  it  is  strange 
that  3'ou  have  forgotten  that  our  Lord   says,  '  Blessed  are  the 

15 


334  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

peace-makers,'  and  it  follows  that  those  must  be  cursed  who  de- 
stroy peace." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram,  rising,  "  if  this  is 
not  thanks  for  doing  my  duty,  to  be  told  to  my  face  that  I  am 
cursed !  Go  ?  I  should  think  I  would  go,  and  I  hope — I  hojoe 
that  when  it  is  too  late  you  may  remember  my  warning,  and 
blush  to  think  how  you  received  it." 

The  last  words  were  shrill  with  anger;  the  next  instant  there- 
was  the  whisk  of  departing  skirts,  followed  by  the  sharp  bang- 
ing of  the  door,  and  Mary  was  left  alone  with  the  sunshhie  and 
the  birds. 

Alas !  out  of  the  sunshine  had  fled  its  warmth,  out  of  the 
notes  of  the  birds  their  music.  That  terrible  discord  which  one 
human  spirit,  one  human  tongue,  can  make  in  human  life,  had 
replaced  the  happy  serenity  of  less  than  an  hour  before.  For  a 
little  while  Mary  felt  stunned.  What  was  it  that  had  happened  ? 
It  seemed  beyond  realization  that  such  a  charge,  against  those 
whom  she  loved  best  in  the  world,  should  have  been  brought  to 
her ;  that  anybody  could  have  been  cruel  enough  to  breathe  sus- 
picion into  the  ear  of  one  Avhose  eyes  God  had  sealed.  "  It  is 
not  as  if  I  could  see  for  myself  whether  it  is  true  or  false,"  she 
murmured  with  a  moan,  but  then  the  generous  spirit  rose  up 
and  scorned  even  this  admission.  "  I  do  not  need  to  see,  1 
know  that  it  is  false !  "  she  said ;  and  as  she  uttered  the  words, 
through  the  open  window  Madeleine's  sweet,  gay  laugh  came 
borne  to  her,  together  with  Devereux's  voice. 

She  remembered  then  that  Mrs.  Ingram  had  said  they  were 
approaching.  Yesterday  it  had  been  the  same  thing :  Devereux 
had  met  Madeleine  as  she  was  leaving  Stansbury,  and  walked 
with  her  to  the  Lodge.  She  had  spent  the  day  there,  superin- 
tending various  arrangements  for  the  ball,  and  in  the  evening- 
he  had  accompanied  her  back.  To  Mary  it  had  all  seemed 
natural  and  very  pleasant ;  she  was  glad  that  those  who  were 
so  dear  to  her  should  learn  to  know  and  like  each  other.  Now 
the  serpent  had  entered  her  Eden  and  suggested  a  thought 
which  she  disowned,  but  could  not  forget. 


MRS.  INGRAM   UTTERS  A  ^YARNING.  335 

Slie  was  still  lying  in  her  white  cashmere  draperies  on  the 
blue  couch,  with  her  face  turned  upward  to  the  sunlight,  when 
Madeleine  entered  the  room.  The  latter  had  knocked,  but  since 
no  voice  spoke — for  Mary  did  not  hear — she  opened  the  door. 
It  was  a  lovely  picture  which  greeted  her,  but  one  which  made 
her  heart  for  a  moment  stand  still.  The  doctor's  warning  had 
never  left  her  mind,  and  the  immobile  attitude,  the  hands 
clasped  on  the  breast,  the  fair  pale  face,  all  looked  like  death. 
It  was  only  for  a  second  that  the  impression  lasted ;  then,  feel- 
ing the  draught  from  the  door,  Mary  turned  and  spoke. 

"  Is  that  you,  Madeleine  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  heard  your  voice 
below." 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,"  answered  Madeleine,  advancing.  "  I  did  not 
hear  you  speak,  so  I  came  in.  Do  you  know  that  you  look  like 
'  the  lily-maid  of  Astolat '  as  you  lie  there  ?  I  have  often  felt 
inclined  to  call  you  Elaine,  but  never  so  much  as  now." 

"Do  vou  mean  I  look  like  her  after  she  was  dead?"  said 
Mary,  with  a  quickness  of  comprehension  for  which  her  com- 
panion was  not  prepared.  "  But  I  should  never  have  had  my 
body  sent  down  to  the  palace  as  she  did.  It  seemed  like  re- 
proaching Lancelot,  and  it  was  not  his  fault  that  he  did  not  love 
her.  One's  own  pain  one  cannot  help,  but  we  can  alwaj^s  refrain 
from  giving  pain  to  others." 

"  Do  you  think  one  alwa}' s  can  ?  "  asked  Madeleine,  wist- 
fully. "  I  am  not  sure  of  that."  She  was  thinking  that  only 
the  night  before  she  had  pained  Lacy  by  failing  to  surrender 
her  own  opinion  in  one  of  the  discussions  he  had  of  late  so  often 
thrust  upon  her. 

"  I  mean  voluntarily,"  said  Mar}^,  with  a  sigh.  "  It  is  an 
awful  thing  to  cause  pain  voluntarily.  It  seems  to  me  I  would 
rather  deprive  any  one  of  life  than  of  the  peace  which  makes  the 
best  part  of  life." 

"  ^ATiat  has  put  such  thoughts  into  your  head  ?  "  said  Made- 
leine. "  You  never  pained  any  one  voluntaril3\  Of  that  I 
am  quite  sure.  And  no  one  could  be  heartless  enough  to  pain 
you." 


336  A  QUESTION  0^  HONOR. 

She  knelt  by  the  couch — a  very  common  attitude  with  her — 
as  she  spoke,  but  she  was  not  prepared  for  the  manner  in  which 
Mary  drew  her  cheek-  down  till  it  touched  her  own,  saying,  almost 
passionately,  "  Not  you — not  you  !    That  I  know  ! " 

The  day  which  began  thus  inauspiciouslj'  was  that  of  the 
ball.  If  consideration  had  obtained  the  least  hearing  in  Mrs. 
Ino-ram's  mental  councils,  she  would  certainly  have  deferred  her 
warning  twenty-four  hours  at  least.  But  no  thought  of  the 
unusual  excitement  and  fatigue  wdiich  awaited  Mary  weighed 
with  her  for  a  moment.  It  may  be  said  that  she  honestly  be- 
lieved that  which  she  uttered,  though  how^  far  dislike  to  Made- 
leine in  the  first  instance,  and  dislike  to  Mary's  engagement  in 
the  second,  influenced  her  belief,  is  another  question.  There 
are  few  who  can  afford  to  analyze  their  motives  too  closely.  At 
the  bottom  of  \'irtuous  indignation  seeds  of  envy,  jealousy,  and 
uncharitableness,  too  often  lurk. 

Some  people  may  think  that  Mary  might  have  dismissed 
what  she  had  heard  from  her  mind,  without  giving  it  any 
weight,  or  allowing  it  to  trouble  and  disturb  her.  But  the 
mind  is  an  unruly  servant  at  best,  and  often  refuses  absolutely 
to  obey.  With  the  best  will  in  the  world  to  the  contrary,  Mary 
could  not  help  being  troubled  and  disturbed.  She  did  not  be- 
lieve, but  she  could  not  forget.  Her  old  passionate  desire  for 
sight  came  back  to  her.  "  If  I  could  only  see  !  "  she  thought. 
When  Madeleine  and  Devereux  spoke,  she  yearned  to  watch 
their  faces,  to  look  into  their  eyes.  It  was  not  that  she  doubted 
them,  but  she  longed  to  be  sure.  Mrs.  Ingram's  tongue  had 
done  its  work :  Mary's  peace  w^as  slain. 

To  realize  this,  it  must  be  understood  that  the  pillars  w^hich 
upheld  her  world  were  shaken.  She  had  nowhere  to  turn,  she 
had  no  one  to  w4iom  to  appeal.  Slie  w^as  left,  as  it  were,  in 
darkness  to  wrestle  single-handed  w^ith  that  demon  of  suspicion 
which  has  poisoned  many  noble  natures  and  broken  many  tender 
hearts.  "  I  will  forget  all  about  it,"  she  thought ;  but  the  reso- 
lution was  made  in  vain.  The  old  story — story  familiar  from 
personal  experience  to  most  of  us — that  it  is  much  easier  tc 


MRS.  INGRAM   UTTERS  A  WARNING  337 

raise  a  fiend  than  to  put  him  down  again,  was  exemplified  here. 
Poor  Mary's  fiend  had  been  raised  for  her,  but  to  put  it  down 
passed  her  power.  Yet  it  cannot  be  said  too  often  that  she  dis- 
beheved  utterly,  though  she  could  not  banish  from  her  mem- 
ory, Mrs.  Ingram's  story.  Now  and  then  she  smiled  to  herself 
over  the  folly  of  it.  Madeleine,  of  all  people  !  "  Aunt  Ingram 
ought  to  have  chosen  a  likelier  heroine  for  her  romance  ! "  she 
thought. 

That  those  around  her  suspected  nothing  of  this  struggle 
spoke  much  for  the  inherent  strength  of  her  nature.  She  was 
altogether  her  usual  self  during  the  day,  and,  when  Madeleine 
spoke  after  dinner  of  going  back  to  Stansbury,  she  said  at  once : 

"  You  must  take  the  pony-phaeton.  I  will  not  hear  of  such 
a  thing  as  3'our  walking  after  all  that  you  have  been  doing 
to-day.  You  must  be  thoroughly  tired.  Mr.  Devereux  will 
drive  you,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  will  take  the  phaeton  gratefully,  but  I  will  not  trouble 
Mr.  Devereux,"  answered  Madeleine,  before  that  gentleman 
could  express  his  willingness  to  play  cavalier.  "  I  am  an  ex- 
cellent whip,  you  know,  and  I  want  to  go  by  the  mills  and 
speak  to  Basil.  I  shall  come  back  early,  Mary,  in  order  to  give 
a  finishing  touch  to  yoiu*  toilet." 

"  And  to  receive  the  people,"  said  Mary.  "  Don't  forget 
that  you  are  to  play  hostess.  I  leave  every  thing  to  3'ou.  Be 
sure  to  send  word  to  Gilbert,  when  the  phaeton  returns,  what 
time  you  want  the  close  carriage  to  come  for  you." 

When  the  phaeton  appeared  at  the  door,  Devereux  attended 
Madeleine  out  and  placed  her  in  it.  Then,  as  she  gathered  up 
the  reins,  he  said :  "  Since  you  are  so  thoroughly  independent 
that  you  will  not  let  me  drive  you,  I  suppose  we  shall  meet  next 
at  the  ball.  "Will  you  promise  me  a  dance,  then  ?  I  shall  need 
some  oasis  of  pleasure  in  the  melancholy  desert  of  boredom  be- 
fore me." 

"  Dance  with  you  ?  Yes,  of  course — if  I  dance  at  all,"  an- 
swered Madeleine.  "  But  I  am  not  sure  about  that.  I  am 
tired,  and  I  shall  have  a  great  deal  to  do." 


338  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  Must  I  content  mjself  with  your  sister  ?  "  he  asked,  in  an 
almost  bojdsh  tone  of  petulance. 

She  looked  at  him  gravely  and  doubtingl3\  "  Remember 
this,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice — for  Joe  was  still  busy  about  the 
horses'  heads — "it  is  easy  out  of  mere  levity  and  idleness  to 
make  trouble  that  nothing  can  cure." 

"  How  can  you  think  such  a  warning  necessary  ?  "  he  said, 
flushing  under  her  regard.  "  I  see  I  have  not  won  your  trust 
even  yet." 

"  Prove  that  you  deserve  it,"  she  answered.  After  whicK — 
nodding  with  a  smile  as  Joe  sprang  to  the  rumble — she  drove 
away. 

Three  or  four  hours  later  it  was  a  very  charming  reflection 
that  Miss  Severn's  mirror  gave  back,  as  she  stood  before  it  with 
her  toilet  complete.  Full  evening-dress  is  like  a  revelation 
of  the  beauty  of  some  women,  and  though  Madeleine  did  not 
belong  to  this  class,  it  enhanced  her  fair  looks  as  it  enhances 
those  of  every  woman  who  possesses  any  fair  looks  at  all.  Out 
of  diaphanous  draperies  of  white  and  silver,  her  graceful  sloping 
shoulders  rose,  and  her  slender  neck  bore  her  head  as  a  stem 
bears  its  flow^er.  Around  this  neck  and  on  her  white  arms  she 
wore  a  necklace  and  bracelets  of  pearls,  in  an  old-fashioned  set- 
ting— their  soft,  cloudy  lustre  harmonizing  admirably  with  the 
rest  of  her  costume.  If  her  face  lacked  color,  it  was  hardly  pos- 
sible to  find  fault  with  it  on  that  score,  so  delicate  and  refined 
were  the  outlines,  so  clear  the  pure  complexion,  so  limpid  the 
brown  eyes,  so  flexile  in  their  sweetness  the  red — yet  not  too 
red — lips. 

Her  toilet  made,  Madeleine  spent  no  time  in  "  last  touches," 
but  having  received  from  Ann  the  complimentary  assurance  that 
she  looked  "  almost  as  pretty  as  Miss  Rosalind,"  she  threw  her 
shawl  over  her  arm  and  went  to  Mrs.  Severn's  room,  where  that 
lady  had  begun  Aer  toilet. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Lodge  now,  mamma,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
send  the  carriage  back  in  about  an  hour  for  you  and  Basil ;  j^ou 
will  not  want  it  before  that  time  ?  " 


"A  SOUND   OF   REVELRY."  339 

"No,  certainly  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Severn,  "  and  that  will  be 
early.  How  pretty  you  look,  Madeleine  I  Your  dress  is  a  great 
success,  and  who  would  fancy  that  you  made  it  yourself!  I  won- 
der what  Rosalind  means  to  wear  ? — I  forgot  to  ask  her." 

"  Whatever  she  wears,  Rosalind  is  always  beautiful,"  said 
Madeleine.  "  Now  is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you  before  I 
go  ?     Ann  is  but  a  clumsy  lady's-maid." 

"Yes,  my  hair,"  answered  Mrs.  Severn,  helplessly,  as  the 
small  white  hands  that  had  never  been  accustomed  to  such  labor, 
dropped  in  her  lap.     "  I  cannot  arrange  it." 

Madeleine's  gloves  were  not  yet  on.  She  took  the  refrac- 
tory tresses  in  her  deft  fingers — fingers  good  for  much  besides 
playing  sonatas — and  in  a  few  minutes  the  coifi"ure  w^as  ar- 
ranged, and  Mrs.  Severn  looked  at  herself  and  was  satisfied. 

This  over,  Madeleine  went  down-stairs  and  lingered  a  few 
minutes  with  Basil,  who  was  reading  newspapers  in  solitary  state 
by  the  sitting-room  fire.  Perhaps  she  expected  to  find  some  one 
else  with  him,  for  her  glance  swept  round  the  room  as  she  en- 
tered, and  an  expression  of  disappointment  came  into  her  eyes. 
She  said  nothing,  but  Basil  must  have  divined  what  she  was 
thinking,  for  after  he  had  taken  her  out  to  the  carriage,  seen  that 
she  was  well  wrapped,  and  promised  to  change  his  dress  at  once, 
he  muttered  as  he  went  back  to  the  house,  "  What  the  devil 
does  Lacy  mean  ?  " 


CHAPTER   IV. 


"  A   SOUXD    OF   EEVELRY." 


It  was  not  remarkable  that  out  of  all  the  invitations  issued 
for  the  ball  at  the  Lodge,  scarcely  one  "  regret  "  had  been  re- 
turned. People  w^ere  not  only  convinced  that  it  would  be  a 
grand  affair — for  Miss  Carlisle's  wealth  was  popularly  spoken  of 
as  "immense" — but  curiosity  was  also  rife.      Every  one  was 


340  A   QUESTION"  OF  HONOK. 

anxious  to  see  Mary  in  her  capacity  of  hostess,  and  not  a  few 
wished  to  observe  Devereux  in  his  new  position.  One  or  two 
sentimental  young  ladies — a  class  nearly  extinct  in  the  present 
day — remarked  that  the  engagement  between  the  young  heiress 
and  the  defeated  claimant  of  her  inheritance  was  "like  a  ro- 
mance ;  "  but  the  majority  displayed  their  acute  worldly  wisdom 
by  saying  that  the  romance  was  altogether  one  of  iuterest- 
"  What  will  not  people  do  for  money  !  "  they  exclaimed. 

When  Madeleine  reached  the  Lodge,  already  blazing  Avith 
lights,  she  was  met  by  Jessie,  who  looked  grave  and  foreboding. 
"  I  never  have  liked  the  notion  of  all  this  to-do.  Miss  Madeleine," 
she  observed,  "  and  I  likes  it  now  less  than  ever.  You  take 
my  word,  the  end  of  it  is  going  to  be  that  Miss  Mary  will  be 
sick." 

"  I  have  been  afraid  of  it  mvself "  said  Madeleine,  "  but 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  What  is  the  matter  ?  Is  she 
not  well?" 

"  She  won't  own  that  any  thing  ails  her,"  said  Jessie,  "  but  I 
know  her  better  than  she  knows  herself,  and  I  see  that  she  isn't 
at  her  best.  If  j^ou  could  persuade  her  to  be  quiet.  Miss  Made- 
leine, and  not  excite  herself  to-night — " 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  answered  Madeleine,  passing  up  tlie 
broad  staircase.  When  she  entered  Mary's  room,  she  found  her 
sitting  in  a  chair  near  the  toilet-table,  already  dressed,  though 
her  maid  was  still  hovering  near.  "  Isn't  she  pretty,  Miss  Made- 
leine? "  said  the  latter,  stepping  back,  with  her  head  admiringly 
on  one  side. 

"  Indeed  she  is ! "  answered  Madeleine,  coming  forward. 
"You  are  more  like  the  'hly-maid '  than  ever,  Mary." 

"  Do  I  really  look  well  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  I  am  so  glad  if  it  is 
so — if  you  are  not  saying  it  merely  to  please  me." 

"  I  should  like  a  picture  of  you  just  as  you  are,"  said  Made- 
leine. "  You  are  lovely  !  Every  one  will  tell  you  so.  Has 
Mr.  Devereux  come?  You  must  go  down  and  let  him  see 
you." 

"  I  don't  think  he  has  come,"  said  Mary,  "  but  there  is  time 


"A  SOUND   OF   REVELRY."  341 

enoiigb.     I  cannot  see  how  you  look,  Madeleine,"  slie  added, 
"  but  no  doubt  you  are  beautiful." 

"  I  beautiful  I  "  said  Madeleine.  "  What  an  idea  !  I  am 
rather  more  inclined  to  prettiness  than  ugliness,  but  that  is  all 
that  can  be  said  for  me.  Tarn  your  bead  a  little,  Mary.  Let  me 
give  a  touch  to  your  hair.  Stella  has  made  it  a  trifle  too  fashion- 
able. To  such  a  face  as  yours  a  coiffure  which  is  too  much  in  the 
style  is  not  becoming." 

Judicious  touches  reduced  the  fashionable  appearance,  and 
gave  more  of  that  simplicity  which  is  essential  to  grace  to  the 
soft  masses  of  fair  hair.  A  few  beautiful  pansies  starred  it  here 
and  there.  As  the  young  heiress  rose,  she  certainly  might  have 
stood  for  a  picture  of  Elaine — gentlest  and  most  pathetic  of  mod- 
ern heroines.  The  rich  white  silk  which  she  wore  clung  to  her 
slender  figure  in  the  sculpturesque  folds  that  silk  of  such  a  text- 
ure naturally  assumes  if  left  to  itself.  The  V-shaped  corsage 
was  filled  with  lace,  and  around  the  arching  throat  ran  a  chain  of 
yellow  gold,  from  which  was  suspended  a  cross  set  with  brilliants 
— her  only  ornament. 

"  You  would  make  a  sensation  anywhere  ! "  said  Madeleine, 
kissing  her  with  delight.  "  Whenever  j^ou  think  of  yom-self  to- 
night be  sure  to  think, '  I  am  looking  as  lovely  as  a  woman  could 
possibly  desire  to  look.'  It  makes  one  much  more  comfortable 
to  feel  that  one  is  pretty.  But  you  must  promise  me  not  to  over- 
exert yourself.     I  am  so  afraid  that  all  this  will  make  you  ill." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Mary,  "  but  I  promise  to  be  as  quiet 
as  possible." 

When  Devereux  saw  her,  he  indorsed  all  that  Madeleine  had 
said.  His  admiration  and  praise  brought  a  tinge  of  color  to  her 
cheeks,  and  a  sense  of  happiness  to  her  heart.  "  You  are  very 
land,"  she  said,  with  her  sweet,  gracious  smile.  "  I  feel  now  as 
if  I  could  face  the  people  who  are  coming  without  shrinking  very 
much  and  feeling  that  they  will  pity  you." 

"  Pity  me  !  "  he  repeated.  *'  What  do  you  mean  by  such  an 
expression  ?  How  could  any  one  in  his  senses  pity  me,  who 
am  far  luckier  than  I  deserve  to  be  ?  " 


342  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said.  "  Are  not  those 
carriage-wheels  ?  I  suppose  the  peojDle  are  beginning  to 
come."*- 

She  was  right.  The  people  were  beginning  to  come.  Carriage 
after  carriage  crashed  along  the  gravel-drive,  and  deposited  its 
freight  before  the  door,  out  of  which  streamed  a  flood  of  light. 
Party  after  party  entered  the  spacious  drawing-rooms,  now 
thrown  into  one,  and  were  received  by  Mrs.  Ingram  or  Madeleine, 
in  the  name  of  the  young  hostess.  Everybody  agreed  that 
"  things  were  beautiful."  The  floors  were  waxed  to  the  smooth- 
ness and  almost  to  the  slipperiness  of  ice ;  flowers  were  every- 
where in  abundance,  the  band  in  the  conservatory  were  playing 
that  enchanting  dance-music  which  makes  the  soberest  pulses 
tingle,  and  the  staidest  feet  stir. 

The  rooms  were  well  filled  before  the  Champion  party  ar- 
rived. They  were  among  the  number  of  those  w^ho  were  taken 
at  once  to  Mary,  and  with  a  light,  perfumy  kiss,  Rosalind  made 
her  graceful  acknowledgments  for  the  compliment  paid  her. 
Champion  made  his  less  gracefully,  but  perhaps  more  sincerely, 
w^hile  his  wife  turned  with  a  smile  to  Devereux. 

"  It  has  been  a  long  time  since  we  met,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  again." 

"  And  I  am  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  to  ofier  my  con- 
gratulations on  your  change  of  name  and  state,"  answered  he, 
bowing  over  the  daintily-gloved  hand  which  she  extended.  "  May 
I  be  permitted  to  say  that  matrimony  seems  to  agree  with  you  ? 
I  never  saw  you  looking  better." 

"  Thanks — I  am  very  well  indeed,"  she  answered,  with  a  deep- 
ening flush  on  her  cheek,  a  brighter  lustre  in  her  eyes,  for  she 
knew  that  "  better  "  stood  for  "  more  beautiful." 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  place  on  your  ball-book  for  old  ac- 
quaintance' sake?"  he  asked  then — thinking,  as  he  had  often 
thought  before,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  more  exquisite 
face,  or  a  manner  more  full  of  arch  coquetry. 

"My  ball-book  is  void  of  engagements  as  yet,"  said  she, 
handing  it  to  him.  "  So  you  can  take  your  choice  of  the  dances." 


"A   SOUND   OF   REVELRY."  343 

"  I  will  be  moderate,"  he  answered,  scribbling  liis  name  down 
lor  a  quadrille  and  a  waltz. 

After  a  few  more  words,  Rosalind  floated  away  on  her  hus- 
band's arm — dazzlingly  lovely  in  salmon-pink,  point-lace,  and 
diamonds.  A  little  later.  Miss  Champion  came  up  to  speak  to 
Mary.  She  w^ore  a  rose-colored  silk  that  lit  up  her  brunette 
complexion  admirably,  but  was  regarded  with  disgust  hy  Rosa- 
lind, because  it  "  killed  "  the  delicate  tint  of  her  dress.  "  You 
must  not  come  near  me,"  she  had  said.  "  We  cannot  even  dance 
in  the  same  set.     Our  dresses  swear  at  each  other  horribly." 

"  Mine  makes  yours  look  fade,  but  yours  does  not  harm 
mine,"  said  Miss  Champion,  complacently. 

This  young  lady  was  leaning  on  Basil's  arm  w^lien  she   ap- 
peared.    He  had  been  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case as  she  descended  from  the  dressing-room,  and  in  this  way 
secured  the  honor  of  sharing  the  sensation  which  her  appear- 
ance created.     A  woman  to  make  a  sensation  in  a  ballroom  was 
Miss  Champion — a  woman  fitted  to  shine  by  gas-light  and  utterly 
eclipse  fairer  beauties.     Besides,  she  was  an  heiress,  and — now 
that  Rosalind,  was  married — preeminently  the  belle  of  Stansbury. 
On    her  ball-book    Mr.  Devereux — mindful  that   Mary  had 
begged  him  to  do  all  he  could  to  make  the  entertainment  a  suc- 
cess— also  had  the  honor  of  inscribing  his  name.     He  did  not 
ask  for  more  than  one  set,  having  long  since  discovered  that  the 
best  point  of  the  "  fair  Odalisque  "  was  her  appearance,  and 
owning  a  mild  partiality,  as  he  now  and  then  remarked,  for  a 
woman  with  a  little  sense. 

Fortunately  for  Miss  Champion's  empire,  few  men  shared 
this  uncommon  taste.  *'By  Jove,  what  a  splendid-looking 
woman  !  "  they  said  to  one  another,  as  she  swept  down  the  room. 
Strangers  (of  whom  there  were  a  few)  asked  to  be  presented,  old 
acquaintances  begged  for  a  dance.  She  was  soon  holding  a  court 
at  one  end  of  the  ballroom — admirers  thronging  round  her,  her 
eyes  like  stars,  her  color  rivaling  the  roses  in  her  hair,  her  white 
teeth  flashing,  her  empty  laugh  sounding  continually,  her  fan 
in  constant  motion.    It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  her  manners 


344 


A  QUESTION   OF   IIOXOR. 


were  a  triSe  ''  loud,"  but  wliat  else  could  be  expected  ?  She  had 
been  out  in  the  world,  and  formed  them  on  the  most  approved 
models. 

In  this  manner  Lacy  found  her  when  he  sauntered  up  pres- 
entl3\  "  What  have  you  kept  for  me  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  her 
ball-book,  and  glancing  over  it. 

"  Two  waltzes,"  answered  she,  pointing  to  them.  "  That  is, 
you  may  have  them  if  you  like.     If  not — " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  other  candidates  for  them,  I  do  not 
doubt,"  said  he,  coolly.  "  I  will  take  them  with  thanks,  and  this 
redowa  down  here,  and — this  unengaged  lancers,  though  I  de- 
test quadrilles  as  a  rule." 

"  Are  you  crazy  ?  "  demanded  she,  in  a  tone  indicating  any 
thing  rather  than  displeasure.  "  Do  you  think  I  shall  let  you 
monopolize  my  ball-book  in  that  fashion  ?  You  shall  have  your 
two  waltzes  and  no  more." 

"  Too  late,  ma  belle  !  "  said  he.  "  My  name  is  down  for  the 
others,  and  if  you  give  them  to  any  one  else,  I  shall  have  a  fair 
excuse  to  challenge  the  fortunate  man." 

He  returned  the  ball-book,  bowed,  and  passed  away.  It  was 
one  of  his  arrogant  peculiarities — well  known  in  Stansbury 
society — never  to  share  a  divided  attention,  and  Miss  Champion 
was  not  sur23rised,  therefore,  to  see  him  go.  She  meant  to  give 
him  the  dances  he  wanted — and  any  thing  else  to  which  he  had  a 
mind — but  she  did  not  say  so,  being  of  the  opinion  that,  in  order 
to  render  a  favor  valuable,  it  should  be  reluctantly  granted. 

"  Mr.  Lacy  is  frightfully  spoiled,"  she  said  to  her  court.  "  He 
believes  that  he  has  only  to  ask  and  to  receive !  Upon  my  word, 
I  think  his  self-conceit  needs  a  lesson." 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Lacy  the  poet  ?  "  asked  a  stranger  standing  by 
— a  gentlenan  whom  one  of  the  Stansbury  families  had  brought 
in  their  train.  "  I  have  felt  a  great  curiosity  to  see  him.  I  think 
he  promises  to  be  the  Morris  of  America." 

Miss  Champion  turned  her  starry  eyes  on  the  speaker.  She 
had  the  faintest  possible  idea  of  any  thing  concerning  the  author 
of  "  The  Earthly  Paradise,"  but  she  knew  that  a  compliment  to 


"A  SOUND   OF  REVELRY."  345 

Lacy  was  intended,  and  in  tliat  moment  she  decided  to  keep 
him  in  her  train  as  much  as  possible  during  the  evening.  Mr. 
Lacj  the  poet !  The  words  had  a  sweet  sound  in  her  ears.  Not 
that  she  had  abstractly  any  liking  for  poetry ;  but  she  admired 
whatever  commanded  social  homage  and  respect. 

When  the  first  quadrille  was  forming  on  the  floor,  Lacy  went 
up  to  Madeleine.  She  had  been  so  occupied,  that  he  had  not, 
before  this,  been  able  to  do  more  than  merely  exchange  a  greet- 
ing, and  utter  a  gracious  approval  of  her  costume.  Now  he 
made  his  appearance,  with  the  air  of  one  ready  for  the  sacrifice. 

"  You  intend  to  dance,  do  you  not  ?  "  he  said,  ofi"ering  his 
arm.     "I  presume  I  may  have  the. pleasure — " 

"  You  mean  the  boredom,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  smile. 
"  No,  I  will  not  immolate  you  on  the  altar  of  duty.  I  have 
promised  this  set — the  first,  isn't  it  ? — to  Mr.  Devereux." 

"  Indeed  1 "  said  Lacy.  He  opened  his  eyes  in  sudden  and 
not  well-pleased  surprise.  A  slight  of  anj^  kind  was  something 
quite  new  to  him — and  from  Madeleine  !  He  recovered  himself 
in  a  minute,  but  she  saw  that  he  was  vexed.  "  I  suppose  you 
mean  this  for  a  rebuke,"  he  said.  "  No  doubt  I  should  have 
asked  you  when  I  first  came  in  if  you  would  dance  with  me,  but 
I  took  it  for  granted  the  first  set  was  mine," 

"  I  could  not  know  that  you  had  taken  it  for  granted,"  she 
answered,  gently,  "  but  I  assure  you  the  idea  of  a  rebuke  did 
not  occur  to  me.  Before  you  came  Mr.  Devereux  asked  me  to 
dance  this  set  with  him,  and  I  promised  to  do  so.  Yonder  he 
comes  now  !     Will  you  have  the  next  ?  " 

"  I  am  engaged  for  the  next,"  he  replied,  and  turned  away. 
He  cared  nothing  about  the  dance — quadrilles  always  bored 
him — but  he  was  in  a  chronic  state  of  discontent  with  Made- 
leine, and  every  trifle  added  to  the  feeling. 

While  the  music  was  swelling  out  on  the  air  and  the 
dancers  were  "  dancing  in  tune,"  he  betook  himself  to  Mary 
Carlisle,  who,  sitting  in  an  alcove — 

"  Like  some  marble  saint,  niched  in  cathedral-wall," 
was  talking  to  two  or  three  of  her  elder  guests.     It  chanced  that 


346  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

it  had  been  some  time  since  she  met  him  last,  but  with  the 
quick  memory  of  the  blind  she  recognized  his  voice  at  once, 
and  made  way  for  him  on.  the  seat  by  her  side. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come  to  talk  to  me,  Mr.  Lacy," 
she  said,  kindly  ;  "  but  do  you  not  dance  ?  You  must  not  let 
me  detain  you  if  you  have  any  engagement — " 

"  I  have  none  at  all,"  he  answered.     "  I  am  not  fond  of 
dancing  for  dancing's  sake,  though  I  meant  to  tread  this  meas- 
ure with  Madeleine ;  but  she  has  thrown  me  over  for  Mr.  Deve- 


reux." 


"  Madeleine  thrown  you  over  !  "  said  Mary.  "  I  cannot  im- 
agine that." 

"  It  surprised  me,"  returned  he,  candidly,  "  but  it  is  true. 
No  doubt  she  has  made  a  good  exchange.  I  am  rather  out  of 
sorts,  and  Mr.  Devereux  seems  very  fascinating." 

"  Why  should  you  be  out  of  sorts  ?  "  asked  Mary,  with  the 
simple  directness  which  characterized  her.  She  looked  grave, 
and  his  last  words  brought  neither  smile  nor  blush  to  her  face. 
She  lowered  her  voice  a  little.  Those  around  were  talking 
among  themselves — comparing  opinions  of  the  toilets  in  the 
shifting  throng  before  them — and  the  music  was  pealing  over 
all.  "  You  have  every  thing,  it  seems  to  me,  that  any  one 
could  ask,"  she  went  on — "  youth,  talents,  reputation  and — 
Madeleine." 

"  Did  it  never  strike  you  that  it  is  very  easy  to  sum  up  our 
neighbor's  blessings  and  prove  entirely  to  our  own  satisfaction 
that  he  ought  to  be  the  happiest  dog  in  the  world  ?  "  asked 
Lacy,  with  a  strain  of  bitterness  in  his  voice  which  her  ear  was 
quick  enough  to  detect.  "  Personal  discussions  are  never  in 
good  taste,  or  I  might  convince  you  that  I  do  not  in  reality  pos- 
sess one  of  the  things  you  have  enumerated." 

"  Not  even  Madeleine  ?  "  asked  she,  in  amazement. 

The  devil  surely  prompted  Lacy  when  he  answered,  "  Not 
even  Madeleine.  An  engagement  is  an  uncertain  thing  at  best 
— and  ours  is  peculiarly  uncertain  because  my  prospects  are  so 
indefinite.     I  have  suffered  a  heavy  loss  lately,  and  the  reputa- 


"A   SOUND   OF   REVELRY."  3^7 

tion  of  which  j^ou  spoke  does  not  help  me  much.  Then  I  am 
conscious  of — of  a  chano;e  in  Madeleine.  Don't  think  that  I 
mention  it  to  complain.  It  is  of  course  not  her  fault  that  she 
has  seemed  to  drift  away  from  me  in  sympathy  of  late." 

The  question  "  How  ?  "  was  quivering  on  Mary's  lips,  when 
one  of  those  interruptions  occurred  which  count  so  heavily  in 
the  sum  of  human  vexations. 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Severn's  placid  tones,  "  here  is 
an  old  friend  of  your  father's  who  wishes  to  know  you — Mr. 
Heriot.  He  happened  to  be  in  Stansburj'-,  and  came  with  Colo- 
nel Mitchell,  feeling  sure  you  would  be  glad  to  receive  him." 

"  And  remembering  that  when  I  saw  you  last,  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  holding  you  on  my  knee,"  said  Mr.  Heriot — a  frank, 
middle-aged  gentleman — taking  the  blind  girl's  hand,  and  gaz- 
ing with  compassionate  interest  on  her  face. 

She  responded  with  her  usual  gentle  courtesy,  while  Lacj'' — 
relapsing  into  boredom — resigned  his  place  to  Mr.  Heriot  and 
strolled  away.  He  would  probably  have  been  surprised  if  any 
one  had  indicated  to  him  the  mischief  which  he  had  worked  in 
these  few  minutes,  but  there  are  few  things  from  which  we  need 
pray  more  earnestly  to  be  delivered  than  from  the  consequences 
of  our  idle  words. 

After  the  ball  fairly  opened,  dance  followed  dance  in  quick 
succession.  Madeleine  waltzed  once  with  Lacy — with  no  one 
else — and  walked  through  two  or  three  more  quadrilles."  Rosa- 
lind, meanwhile,  in  brilliant  beauty  divided  the  homage  of  the 
room  with  her  handsome  sister-in-law.  Had  it  been  before  her 
marriage  she  would  have  monoiDolized  public  attention,  but  mar- 
ried belles  belong  to  an  order  of  civilization  which  had  not  yet 
reached  Stansbury.  I  am  compelled  to  say,  however,  that  there 
was  much  of  the  old  spice  of  coquetry  in  Mrs.  James  Champi- 
on's manner  when  Devereux  claimed  her  hand  for  the  first  of 
the  dances  for  which  she  was  engaged  to  him.  As  they  took 
their  places  in  the  set — with  due  care  that  Miss  Champion's 
rose-colored  dress  was  not  near  the  salmon-pink — she  handed 
her  ball-book  to  him. 


348  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  See  there  !  "  slie  said,  with  a  laugh,  indicating  the  waltz 
for  which  he  had  written  his  name.  Through  it,  and  all  the 
other  round  dances,  a  broad  black  pencil-mark  was  drawn,  "  Mr. 
Champion  has  had  mj  book  for  revision,  you  perceive,"  she 
added,  as  Devereux  glanced  up  interrogatively.  "  That  is  what 
comes  of  giving  a  man  a  right  to  regulate  one's  actions  and  cur- 
tail one's  enjoyments.  Oh,  miserable  fate  to  be  a  woman  !  You 
ought  to  imitate  the  Mussulmans  who  thank  God  that  they  are 
neither  women  nor  dogs." 

"  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  cannot  sympathize  with  you," 
sa,id  Devereux.  "  I  have  always  thought  that  I  agreed  with  the 
Frenchman  who  said  he  should  like  to  be  a  woman  till  he  was 
thirty — a  beautiful  woman,  of  course,  understood.  And  I  can- 
not blame  Mr.  Champion  very  much,  though  he  has  deprived 
me  of  a  gTeat  pleasure.  In  his  place  I  should  probably  act  as 
he  has  done.  Nothing  is  more  strong  in  man's  nature  than  the 
instinct  of  monopoly." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  very  fine,"  said  Rosalind,  whose  annoj^ance 
was  greater  than  she  cared  to  show,  "  but  it  is  not  you  who  are 
condemned  to  these  stupid  things  "  (quadrilles  evidently  meant), 
"  with  such  music  and  such  a  floor  !  I  must  go  away  before  the 
German.  I  cannot  sit  by  and  see  that !  Gordon  Lacy  always 
leads  it,  and  I  suppose  he  will  ask  Helen  to  dance  with  him. 
Pray,  observe  the  difference  between  a  sister  and  a  wife.  James 
cannot  make  her  give  up  round-dancing." 

"  And  this  is  the  only  dance  you  can  give  me,  then  ?  "  said 
Devereux,  looking  again  at  the  ball-book.  "  I  see  your  list  of 
engagements  is  complete." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  give  j^ou  any  other  dance,"  she 
replied.  "  But  there  is  our  waltz.  If  you  care  to  come  and 
bear  me  company,  we  may  take  an  ice  while  it  is  going  on,  and 
my  feelings  need  not  be  hopelessly  lacerated.  We  have  not  met 
in  so  long,  and  I  have  several  things  to  say  to  you." 

"  I  shall  come  with  pleasure,"  said  he,  wondering  a  little 
what  was  the  meaning  of  this,  and  what  Madeleine  might  think. 

So  when  the  others  were  floating  over  the  polished  floor  to 


"A   SOUND   OF  EEYELRY."  349 

the  strains  of  the  sweet  Strauss  music,  Mr.  Devereux  made  his 
way  to  where  Mrs.  James  Champion  sat  surrounded  by  two  or 
three  gentlemen.  Her  husband  was  not  among  them — for  she 
had  persuaded  him  to  go  and  play  whist ;  by  no  means  a  diffi- 
cult task,  since  he  liked  whist  exceedingly,  and  altogether  ab- 
jured dancing.  When  Devereux  drew  near,  she  rose,  took  his 
anil,  and  bending  her  head  gracefully  to  the  others  in  a  manner 
which  signified,  "  I  have  an  engagement,"  moved  away. 

To  this  same  waltz-music,  meanwhile,  Miss  Champion  was 
floating  round  the  room  on  Lacy's  arm.  He  was  the  best 
waltzer  in  Stansbury,  and  she  liked  dancing  with  him  on  that 
account,  but  if  he  had  been  the  worst  she  would  probably  also 
have  liked  it — conscious  that  all  eyes  were  upon  them,  and  peo- 
ple were  remarking  to  one  another  the  devotion  of  her  compan- 
ion. It  was  a  trifle  altosrether  beneath  her  consideration  that 
among  these  e^^es  were  those  of  the  woman  to  whom  he  was  en- 
gaged, and  of  the  man  Avhoni  she  had  induced  to  believe  that  she 
would  some  day  marry  him. 

The  latter  felt  a  growing  conviction  of  his  own  infatuation  as 
he  watched  the  flj'ing  pair,  and  the  perfumes,  the  lights,  the 
whole  bright  scene,  seemed  to  him  full  of  weariness  and  depres- 
sion. His  heart  was  sore  with  pain  as  he  stood,  talking  to  a 
pretty  chestnut-haired  girl — a  new  debutante — who  was  telling 
him  how  much  she  liked  the  convent-school  from  which  she  had 
just  returned.  "I  have  to  thank  Miss  Madeleine  for  having 
been  sent  there,"  she  was  saying.  "  Mamma  said  she  could  not 
ask  any  thing  better  than  the  school  that  had  formed  Jier.  Some 
of  the  sisters  reminded  me  of  her — they  have  such  sweet,  gentle 
manners.  And  they  all  remember  her  so  well !  I  must  go  to  see 
her  and  deliver  all  the  messages  with  which  they  charged  me." 

"  She  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Basil,  looking  at 
Madeleine  with  a  glance  of  pride  in  his  honest  eyes.  He  could 
not  help  wondering,  as  she  moved  here  and  there,  playing  her 
part  of  deputy -hostess  with  the  manner  of  which  his  companion 
spoke,  what  she  thought  of  Lacy's  conduct.  If  it  cost  her  a 
pang,  the  fair,  brave  face  kept  its  own   secret.     It  may  seem 


350  A  QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

strange,  perhaps,  to  those  who  are  accustomed  to  think  onlj  of 
tliemselves,  but  Madeleine  was  at  that  moment  wondering  how 
Basil  bore  Helen  Champion's  reckless  flirtation. 

After  a  while  he  left  the  room,  and  then  she  made  her  way 
through  the  crowd  and  followed  him,  touching  his  arm  with  her 
fan  when  she  found  him  at  the  open  hall-door.  He  started  when 
he  turned  and  saw  her  standing  bj  his  side  in  her  gauzy  dress 
of  white  and  silver. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  said.  "  Don't  you  know 
you  are  too  lightly  clad  for  this  draught?  I  came  for  a  little 
fresh  air." 

"  And  I  to  speak  to  you,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  know  where 
Rosahnd  is  ?     Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?  " 

"  No,  not  particularly  lately.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  She  is  en- 
joying herself,  3'ou  may  be  sure,  wherever  she  is."    • 

*'  That  is  very  likely,"  answered  Madeleine,  a  little  dryly, 
"  but  whether  her  husband  would  approve  of  her  mode  of  enjoy- 
ment is  another  question.  I  saw  her  enter  that  alcove  behind 
the  conservatory  some  time  ago  with  Mr.  Devereux,  and  I  have 
not  seen  either  of  them  since.  Please  go  and  find  them,  and 
send  him  to  me." 

"  You  talk  as  if  I  was  a  policeman,"  said  Basil.  "  But  if  I 
can  find  them,  and  if  either  of  them  is  to  be  sent  to  you,  I  think 
it  better  be  Rosalind.  Flirtation  before  marrias^e  was  bad 
enough,  but  flirtation  after — " 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  gesture  of  dissent,  "  I  don't 
want  to  see  Rosalind.  There  is  no  good  in  it.  I  can  make  no 
impression  on  her  whatever ;  but  on  Mr.  Devereux  I  think  I  can. 
Send  him  to  me.     I  am  going  to  the  library." 


"EVIL  IS  WKOUGHT  BY   WANT   OF  THOUGHT."  351 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  EYIL   IS   WKOUGHT   BY   WANT    OF   THOUGHT." 

Basil  departed  on  his  errand,  and  found  tlie  two  culprits 
v^  here  Madeleine  had  supposed  they  would  be  found,  in  an  alcove 
next  the  conservatory.  It  was  unquestionably  a  charming  nook 
for  flirtation.  Flowing  curtains  of  silk  and  lace  gave  partial  se- 
clusion, a  large  window  overlooking  the  greenhouse  opened 
down  to  the  floor,  and  a  scent  of  orange-blossoms  came  in  with 
the  cadenced  rise  and  fall  of  music.  Rosalind  was  a  fit  goddess 
for  such  a  scene.  No  artist  could  have  desired  a  prettier  picture 
to  illustrate  a  society-idyl  than  she  made  leaning  back  in  a  lux- 
urious chair,  with  her  delicate  silken  draperies  sweeping  the 
floor,  and  a  glass  of  water-ice  in  her  hand.  Immediatel}^  in  front 
of  her  Devereux  was  sitting — on  the  low  ledge  of  the  open 
window,  with  the  glossy  leaves  of  an  orange-tree,  laden  with 
fruit  and  blossoms,  touching  the  back  of  his  head.  He  looked 
lazily  amused  and  content.  What  man  owning  his  tastes  and 
habits  would  not  have  been,  with  so  fair  a  face  before  him,  and 
the  music  of  so  gay  a  tongue  in  his  ears  ? 

On  this  pleasant  scene  Basil  broke  somewhat  like  the  police- 
man to  whom  he  had  likened  himself.  In  the  opening  of  the 
curtains  his  tall  figure  appeared,  and  his  voice  when  he  spoke 
was  so  cold  that  it  sounded  unlike  itself. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you,  Rosalind,"  he  said.  "  Your  partner 
for  the  next  set  is  looking  for  you" — this  was  quite  true,  he  had 
met  that  neglected  person  in  crossing  the  room — "  and  one  or 
tvro  people  have  asked  me  where  you  were." 

"  And  you  have  taken  the  trouble  to  search  for  me  on  their 
behalf?  "  asked  Rosahnd,  arching  her  brows.  "  Thank  you  very 
much,  but  I  am  very  comfortable  and  do  not  think  I  shall  dance 
any  more  just  now." 

She  evidently  did  not  mean  to  stir,  her  face  said  so  as  plainly 


352  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

as  her  voice — and  Basil  tlierefore  was  forced  to  fire  tiis  second 
shot. 

"You  must  allow  me  to  take  charge  of  jou,  then,"  he  said, 
"  for  I  have  been  also  commissioned  to  find  Mr.  Devereux. — My 
sister,"  he  added,  turning  to  that  gentleman,  "  asked  me  to  tell 
you  that  she  wishes  to  see  you.    She  is  in  the  library." 

Devereux  rose  at  once — rose  with  an  alacrity  ^vhich  surprised 
and  displeased  Rosalind,  since  nothing  piques  a  woman  more 
than  for  a  man  to  show  that  he  is  willing  to  leave  her  society. 
"In  that  case,"  he  said,  "if  Mrs.  Champion  will  excuse  me — " 

"  Oh,  certainly !  "  answered  Mrs.  Champion,  retaining  self- 
command  enough  to  smile.  "  I  cannot  expect  you  to  disregard 
such  a  summons." 

He  only  answered  by  a  bow,  and  passed  out  of  the  alcove, 
leaving  her  in  the  enviable  position  of  being  tete-d-ttte  with  her 
own  brother.  The  latter  sat  down  on  the  vacated  window- 
ledge  and  looked  straight  into  the  lustrous  eyes  before  him. 

"  See  here,  Rosalind,"  he  said,  gravel}^,  "  this  will  not  do ! 
Coquetry  before  marriage  is  no  credit  to  a  woman,  but  after 
marriage  it  is  a  disgrace.  If  you  imagine  that  Champion  will 
tolerate  such  conduct,  you  know  him  less  than  you  might. 
Take  my  advice  :  stop  in  time,  before  you  shipwreck  your  hap- 
piness and  his  trust  in  you." 

"  y/hat  perfect  nonsense !  "  cried  Rosalind,  angrily.  "  Stop 
in  time  indeed  !  Wliat  is  there  to  stop  ?  I  never  heard  before 
that  it  was  coquetry  to  go  into  a  cool  place  to  eat  a  water-ice. 
Oh,  how  full  the  world  is  of  prudish,  uncharitable  people  !  I  will 
venture  any  thing  that  Madeleine  sent  you  here  to  say  this." 

"  She  did  nothing  of  the  kind,"  returned  her  brother,  sternly. 
"What  I  have  said  has  been  altogether  unprompted.  You  may. 
make  what  evasions  you  like,  you  know  that  you  came  here  to 
flirt,  or  tr}^  to  flirt,  with  Devereux  ;  but  I  warn  you  that  if  you 
do  not  wish  to  cause  such  mischief  as  many  a  weak,  volatile 
woman  has  caused  before,  mischief  that  an  angel  could  not  heal, 
you  had  better  not  play  with  edged  tools.  Now  I  think  y t  u 
should  go  back  to  the  ballroom." 


"EVIL   IS  WROUGHT   BY   WANT   OF  THOUGHT,"  353 

"  There  is  undoubtedly  no  inducement  to  remain  here,"  said 
Rosalind,  rising  and  shaking  out  her  train. 

In  the  ballroom  she  soon  met  her  disconsolate  partner,  and 
Basil  was  released,  to  find  his  way  to  Miss  Champion's  side. 
He  had  danced  with  her  only  once — the  first  quadrille — and  he 
now  came  to  claim  the  next  set,  which  chanced  to  be  the  lancers 
for  which  Lacy  had  expressed  a  desire. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Severn,"  said  Miss  Champion,  whose  head 
was  by  this  time  completely  turned  with  incense  and  flattery, 
"but  I  am  engaged  for  the  lancers." 

'*  Engaged !  "  repeated  Basil.  "  Certainly  you  are  engaged, 
to  me  !  Excuse  my  persistence,  but  I  asked  the  dance  early  in 
the  evening." 

"  You  did  not  write  your  name  on  my  tablets,  then,"  said 
she,  looking  annoyed,  "  and  I  cannot  be  expected  to  carry  such 
things  in  my  memory.  Indeed,  I  make  it  a  rule  to  give  a  dance 
only  to  the  person  whose  name  is  down  for  it." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  break  your  rule  on  my  account," 
answered  he,  a  little  haughtily.  "  But  may  I  be  permitted  to 
inquire  whose  name  is  on  your  tablets  ?  " 

She  blushed  crimson,  she  could  not  help  it,  but  her  eyes  met 
his  defiantly.     "  ]\Ir.  Lacy's,"  she  replied. 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  asked  Basil.  Such  an  answer 
seemed  to  him  almost  incredible.  "  Do  you  really  mean  that  3'ou 
will  refuse  this  dance  to  nie  in  order  to  give  it  to  Lacy,  with 
whom  you  have  already  danced  oftener  than  with  any  one  else  ?  " 

The  black  eyes  flashed.  Miss  Champion  had  the  temper 
which  usually  accompanies  orbs  of  that  color.  "I  mean,"  re- 
plied she,  emphatically,  "  that  I  will  dance  with  whom  I  please, 
without  submitting  to  dictation  from  any  one." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Basil,  "  but  if  you  think  that  I  wished  to 
dictate,  you  are  mistaken :  I  only  wished  to  understand.  ] 
comprehend  now  thoroughly,  and  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you 
good-evening." 

He  drew  back — never  had  she  seen  him  look  so  nearly  hand- 
some, or  so  absolutely  haughty — bowed,  and  turned  away.     At 


354  •         A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

that  moment  he  was  almost  a  free  man.  The  beauty  which  had 
enthralled  him  seemed  to  vanish,  and  the  dwarfed,  misshapen 
soul  looked  at  him  out  of  those  "  midnio-ht  eves  "  which  Lacv 

CD  %f  •/ 

had  rhymed.  "It  is  over  !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  If  I  go  back 
to  her  ao-ain,  it  must  be  because  she  sends  for  me,  and  that  is 
not  likely." 

While  this  little  scene  was  in  progress,  Devereux  made  his 
way  to  the  library,  where  Basil  had  told  him  that  he  would  find 
Madeleine.  He  smiled  a  little  as  be  did  so,  smiled  at  himself 
for  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  being  so  summoned,  and  at  the  curi- 
ous sense  of  detected  guilt  which  accompanied  him.  "How 
can  I  make  her  understand  that  it  was  not  my  fault !  "  he 
thought. 

By  what  he  felt  to  be  a  fortunate  chance,  he  found  her  alone. 
All  the  straggling  couples  who  at  intervals  during  the  evening 
had  wandered  into  the  library  for  flirtation  or  cards,  were  hap- 
pily returned  to  the  ballroom,  and  she  was  sitting  by  the  fire — 
rather  in  the  shade,  yet  with  enough  light  falling  over  her  to 
show  that  she  looked  pale  and  weary. 

He  advanced  and  stood  before  her,  gazing  down  into  the 
eyes  which  were  uplifted  to  him  with  a  very  reproachful  expres- 
sion.    "  You  sent  for  me  ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  sent  for  you,"  she  answered.  "You  will  forgive 
the  liberty,  will  you  not  ?  There  seemed  no  other  w^ay  of  end- 
ing what  should  never  have  been  begun.  And  yet  this  after- 
noon you  told  me  to  trust  you  ! " 

"  I  tell  you  so  again,"  he  answered,  smiling  at  her  tone. 
"  Why  will  you  not  believe  that  there  is  nothing  which  could 
tempt  me  to  deserve  your  distrust  ?  " 

"  That  is  easily  said,  and  no  doubt  you  mean  it,  but,  though 
you  may  not  intend  harm,  you  may  make  harm.  Do  you  under- 
stand the  distinction  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  but  I  must  say  once  more  that  j^ou  misjudge  me. 
To  make  harm,  one  must  be  either  weak  or  badly-intentioned, 
I  do  not  think  that  I  am  either." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  you  are  badly-intentioned,"  said  she, 


"EVIL   IS   WROUGHT   BY  WANT   OF  THOUGHT."  355 

looking  at  him  steadily,  "  but  I  am  not  sure  about  the  other.  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  you  are  weak — in  a  certain  way,  that  is." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  qualification,"  said  he,  flushing  a  little 
— for  who  likes  to  be  called  weak  ? — yet  still  smiling  at  the  can- 
dor and  simplicity  of  her  m.anner. 

"  I  mean,"  she  went  on,  "  that  you  have  probably  alwaj^s 
been  accustomed  to  doing  that  which  was  most  pleasant — and  it 
never  occurs  to  you  to  resist  an  agreeable  temptation." 

"In  other  words,  you  think  me  a  hopeless  epicurean." 

"  Not  exactly :  I  only  think  that  you  regard  your  owm  amuse- 
ment as  of  more  importance  than  any  probable  consequences." 

"  You  could  not  believe  any  thing  much  worse  of  me,"  said 
he.  Then  he  drew  a  chair  in  front  of  her  and  sat  down. 
"  Come,  let  us  reason  about  it.  I  do  not  think  I  have  a  great 
deal  of  vanity,  but  I  cannot  submit  to  such  shameful  injustice. 
May  I  speak  to  you  frankly  ? — may  I  tell  you  exactly  how  it 
chanced  that  I  was  found  by  your  brother  in  such  a  suspicious 
position  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "you  may- speak  as  frankly  as  you 
like." 

"  Then  I  am  compelled  to  say  that  it  was  by  Mrs.  Cham- 
pion's own  request  that  we  went  into  that  alcove  to  take  a 
water-ice.  I  feared  at  the  time  that  you  might  think  I  had 
forgotten  your  warning  of  the  afternoon,  but  what  could  I  do  ?  " 

She  fixed  on  him  the  grave,  gentle,  brown  eyes,  which  he 
knew  so  well,  and  propounded  this  leading  question,  "  Were 
you  not  willing  to  go  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Willing— yes.  Anxious — no. 
Mrs.  Champion  is  a  very  beautiful  woman,  but  (apart  from  her 
beaut}')  she  is  not  a  woman  whom  I  admire  or  like.  I  hope  you 
will  pardon  this  candor — I  am  constrained  to  it  in  self-defense." 

"  Yet,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  flash  of  sudden  indignation, 
"you  have  flirted  with  her  in  the  past,  and  are  ready  to  flirt 
with  her  in  the  future  !  " 

"  Again  permit  me  to  say — no.  I  have  flirted  in  the  past, 
perhaps — though  never  to  the  degree  of  which  you  once  accused 


356  .A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR 

me — but  with  regard  to  the  future,  I  know  whereof  I  speak 
when  I  say  that  nothing  could  induce  me  to  do  the  same  thing 
again.  I  suspect  more  than  I  care  to  tell  you  of  the  part  which 
Mrs.  Champion  plaj^ed,  or  desired  to  play,  while  she  was  yet 
Miss  Rosalind  Severn." 

Madeleine  knew  w^hat  he  meant,  but  her  lips  were  sealed. 
How  was  it  possible  for  her  to  deny  that  Rosalind  had  indeed 
played  a  most  unworthy  part  ?  After  a  short  pause,  he  went 
on,  ^Yith.  a  tone  of  subdued  eagerness  in  his  voice  : 

"  I  wish  most  earnestly  that  you  would  trust  me  !  I  wish 
you  would  believe  that  not  only  is  my  honor  bound  in  a  manner 
which  would  of  itself  make  me  abstain  from  such  idle  folly — folly 
often  ending,  as  I  am  well  aware,  in  grievous  harm — but  you 
have  more  influence  over  me  than  you  know.  I  could  not  vol- 
untarily do  any  thing  to  lower  myself  in  your  esteem,  or  which 
would  cause  you  pain  and  uneasiness." 

*'  You  are  very  good  to  think  of  me,"  said  Madeleine,  sur- 
prised and  touched.  She  looked  at  him  with  something  of  grati 
tude  in  her  kind,  sweet  glance.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  for  a 
moment  to  suspect  that  he  might  be  paying  merely  an  empty 
compliment.  There  was  no  suggestion  of  flirtation  in  the  eyes 
meeting  her  owm,  and  the  sincerity  of  the  last  w^ords  was  almost 
passionate. 

"  Think  of  you !  "  he  repeated.  "  How  can  I  help — "  Then 
he  stopped  short.  There  was  another  pause.  Across  the  hall, 
the  swell  of  music  came  borne,  together  with  the  tread  of  dan 
cing  feet.  How  many  of  the  tragedies  of  life  occur  in  just  such 
scenes !  This  was  not  a  tragedy,  but  at  that  moment  a  truth 
which  he  had  suspected,  but  not  before  known,  came  and  stared 
Devereux  in  the  face.  It  was  a  revelation,  and  not  a  pleasant 
one.  Boys  and  girls  like  to  play  at  love,  to  nurse  sentiment  and 
encourage  fancy,  but  men  and  women  who  have  been  scorched 
by  the  fires  of  passion,  and  to  whom  experience  has  taught  the 
almost  overwhelming  might  of  this  tyrant  of  human  nature, 
shrink  away  from  that  which  brings  little  pleasure  to  recompense 
much  suffering. 


"E7IL   IS   WROUGHT   BY   WANT   OF   THOUGHT.'  357 

"But  you  should  not  think  of  me,"  said  Madeleine,  after  a 
moment.  "  I  mean  that  I  am  of  small  imjDortance  in  jour  life. 
You  should  do  right  for  the  sake  of  right.  You  should  think  of 
jour  own  honor  and  of  Marj's  trust." 

"  I  do  think  of  these  things,"  he  answered,  iu  a  low  tone. 
Was  he  not,  indeed,  thinking  of  them  at  that  moment? 

"  Then  it  seems  to  me,"  Madeleine  went  on,  with  the  bravery 
which  sometimes  made  her  saj  and  do  things  that  no  one  else 
could  have  attempted,  "  that  if  I  were  a  man,  I  should  scorn  to 
lead  a  woman  into  foil  v.  The  best  of  chivalrj  is  not  only  that 
which  defends  the  weak  from  others,  but  from  themselves.  A 
gentleman  should  be  a  knight,  and  we  know  to  what  they  pledged 
themselves." 

He  looked  up — the  soft,  brown  eves  were  shining  like  stars 
out  of  her  fair,  pale  face.  Gentle  thoughts,  noble  impulses — are 
thej  not  flowers  of  the  soul  ?  And  sometimes  we  see  and  feel 
their  beautj,  which  is  greater  bj  far  than  anj  beautj  of  flesh 
and  blood. 

It  has  been  said  that  under  all  his  laissez-faire  indifference, 
Devereux  veiled  a  nature  originallj  prone  to  impulses.  One  of 
these  impulses  carried  him  awaj  on  its  tide  now.  He  took  Made- 
leine's hand  and  kissed  it.  "  If  I  am  ever  a  knio-ht  "  he  said, 
"  vou  will  be  mj  inspiration." 

The  tone  was  more  significant  than  the  words,  and  made  his 
listener  draw  back  with  a  dignity  all  her  own.  "  You  have  for- 
gotten the  motto  of  the  knights,"  she  said.  "  It  was  '  God  and 
Our  Ladj.'  The  best  of  them  had  no  mortal  for  an  inspiration. 
If  jou  cannot  aim  so  high,  at  least  remember  that,  speaking  for 
this  world,  a  gentleman"'s  best  inspiration  is  his  honor." 

"  Surelj  JOU  do  not  think  that  I  am  likelj  to  forget  it  ?  "  he 
said,  with  a  pained  look  on  his  face. 

"No,"  she  answered,  kindly.  " I  am  sure  you  never  will :  I 
am  sure  you  will  remember — all  that  you  ought.  I  only  feared 
you  might  be  thoughtless.     That  was  all." 

"You  must  not  think  better  of  me  than  I  deserve,"  he  said, 

after  a  moment's   silence.     "  I  have  no  fixed  ideas  or  principles 

1(3 


358  ,  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

of  any  kind — one  feels  no  need  of  them,  you  know,  in  such  a  life 
as  I  have  lived.  There  is  only  one  thing  about  which  I  have 
ever  troubled  m^'self,  and  that  is — my  honor.  I  could  not  readi- 
ly support  the  idea  that  in  any  way  I  had  forfeited  that." 

'^ JSToblesse  oblige/"  said  Madeleine,  smiling.  "Whoever 
feels  that,  is  not  likely  to  go  very  far  wrong." 

He  looked  at  her,  but  did  not  answer  immediately.  There 
was  a  subtile  sense  of  sympathy  and  comprehension  between 
them  which  he  felt  to  be  very  pleasant.  He  said  to  himself,  "  If 
only  it  could  last !  " — but  who  does  not  know  that  the  happy 
liours  of  life  end  quickly,  while  the  sad  ones  are  leaden-footed  ? 

This  hour  ended  while  the  reflection  was  in  his  mind.  Mrs. 
Ingram's  j)earl-gray  moire  and  uncheerful  face  suddenly  appeared 
at  the  door.  "  Oh — j^ou  are  here,  Miss  Madeleine  ! "  she  said. 
"I  thought  perhaps  it  was  Mar3%  Do  you  know  where  she 
is?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  for  some  time,"  answered  Madeleine. 
"  Is  she  not  in  the  drawing-room  ?  " 

"  Not  anywhere  at  all,"  answered  Mrs.  Ingram  in  a  porten- 
tous tone.  "I  will  send  up-stairs  and  see  if  she  is  there.  I'm 
afraid  something  may  be  the  matter.  She  hasn't  looked  well 
this  hour  or  two  past." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  if  she  is  up-stairs,"  said  Madeleine,  rising 
quickly. 

She  passed  out  of  the  room,  crossed  the  hall,  and  sped  up- 
stairs— vaguely  uneasy,  though  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Ingram  be- 
longed to  a  class  characterized  by  Jessie  as  "croakers." 

Miss  Carlisle's  chamber-door  was  closed.  Madeleine  knocked, 
but  no  answer  came.  She  turned  the  handle,  but  the  door  re- 
sisted her  efforts.     Plainly  it  was  locked. 

Her  surprise  and  alarm  were  great,  as  she  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment motionless.  No  one  but  Mary  could  possibly  have  lockp'"" 
the  door,  and  wh}^  did  not  Mary  give  some  sign  of  being  within  ? 
She  knocked  again,  and  called  her  name,  but  there  was  no  reply. 
Again,  and  yet  again,  with  the  same  result.  Then,  full  of  con- 
sternation, yet    resolved   to   make  no   scene,   she   turned    and 


"EVIL  IS  WROUGHT   BY   WAXT   OF  THOUGHT."  359 

ran  down-stairs.      After  all,  slie  thought,  Marj^  might  not  be 
within — she  would  go  and  look  for  her. 

At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  she  found  Devereux — evidently 
waiting  for  her.  Thoroughly  as  she  commanded  herself,  he 
knew  in  an  instant  from  her  face  that  all  was  not  well.  "  What 
is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly.     "  Is  Mary  ill  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  found  her,"  Madeleine  answered.  '^  She  is  not 
in  her  room — at  least  the  door  is  locked,  and  although  I  knocked 
several  times  there  was  no  reply.  She  must  be  down-stairs  some- 
where. Go  and  look  through  the  drawing-rooms  and  conserva- 
tory, while  I  go  to  the  dining-room  aiid  see  if  Jessie  knows  any 
thino:  about  her.  It  is  foolish  to  be  alarmed,  but  Mrs.  Ino-ram  is 
such  a  prophet  of  evil  that  she  startles  one." 

He  required  no  second  bidding,  but  entered  the  drawing- 
rooms  at  once,  while  Madeleine,  on  her  part,  went  to  the  dining- 
room,  where  the  beautiful  though  much-demolished  supper-table 
stood.  She  found  Jessie  in  a  tempest  of  indignant  sorrow  over 
a  fruit-stand  of  Bohemian  glass,  which  had  just  been  broken. 
To  her  careful  soul  the  accident  was  a  terrible  one,  but  she 
forgot  it  altogether  when  she  heard  Madeleine's  question : 
Did  she  know  where  Mary  was  ?  —  and  why  was  her  door 
locked  ? 

"  Is  her  door  locked  ?  "  Jessie  asked,  in  immediate  trej^ida- 
tion.  "  She's  up  there — that  I  know.  I  saw  her  cross  the  hall 
and  go  up-stairs  some  little  time  ago.  I  noticed  it,  because  she 
was  all  by  herself,  and  I  thought  that  was  queer ;  but  I  was  too 
busy  to  go  and  see  about  her.  I  wish  now  I  had  !  It  would 
have  been  better  to  have  had  every  piece  of  glass  in  the  house 
broken,  than  to  have  let  Miss  Mary  want  for  any  thing." 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  has  wanted  for  any  thing,"  said 
Madeleine.  "  Why  should  she  ?  Her  bell  has  plainly  not  been 
touched,  for  yoiider  is  Stella  ;  but  j^ou  had  better  come  up  with 
me,  Jessie." 

"  Of  course  I'm  coming,"  said  Jessie,  leaving  the  Bohemian 
ware  and  cut-glass  to  its  fate. 

In  the  hall  they  met  Devereux.     He  shook  his  head.     "  She 


360  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

is  not  to  be  found  anywhere  here,"  he  said.  "  She  must  be  up- 
stahs." 

"  We  are  going  to  see,"  answered  Madeleine. 

"  I  will  come,  too,"  he  said. 

No  one  demurred,  and  he  accompanied  them  to  the  upper 
story.  Mary's  door  was  still  locked,  and  no  word  came  from 
within.  Jessie  waited  a  moment  to  ascertain  this  fact,  after 
which  she  said,  "  I'm  going  through  my  room,  Miss  Madeleine. 
It's  not  likely  she  has  locked  that  door." 

"  Oh,  how  stupid  of  me  !  "  cried  Madeleine.  "  I  forgot  your 
room  altogether.     Certainly  we  can  go  that  waj"." 

Leaving  Devereux  where  he  was,  she  followed  Jessie  down 
a  side  corridor  to  the  head  of  the  private  staircase.  Here  was 
the  room  of  the  latter — assigned  to  her  in  order  that  she  might 
be  near  her  young  mistress.  She  led  the  way  through  to  a 
door  which  opened  into  Miss  Carlisle's  dressing-room.  It  was 
unlocked,  as  also  the  door  between  the  dressing-room  and 
chamber. 

Entering  the  last,  Madeleine  found  her  fears  realized.  In 
the  deep  arm-chair  near  the  toilet-table,  where  she  had  sat  a 
few  hours  before  for  her  hair  to  be  arranged,  Mary  was  sitting 
now — or,  rather,  lying — in  a  dead  faint. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  WHEN    THE    lAMP    IS    SHATTERED." 

It  was  not  long  after  this  before  the  house — lately  blazing 
with  light,  and  echoing  with  mirth  and  music — was  silent  and 
empty,  save  for  its  usual  inmates,  together  with  the  doctor  and 
Devereux.  Fortunately,  the  former  had  been  among  the  guests, 
and  when  he  was  summoned  in  haste  to  Mary's  chamber,  the 
rumor  spread — all  in  an  instant,  as  it  were — no  man  being  able 
to  tell  where  it  originated — that  she  was  dead.     The  German 


"WHEN  THE   LAMP   IS   SHATTERED."  361 

broke  up  in  dismay,  people  flocked  up  stairs  by  scores,  but  no 
one  was  allowed  to  enter  the  room  of  the  young  mistress  of  tbe 
house.  Jessie  met  them  in  the  hall,  told  them  that  she  had 
merely  fainted — probably  from  fatigue — and  sent  them  down 
again.  After  this  followed  demands  for  cloaks  and  carriages. 
In  less  than  an  hour  the  last  equipage  had  rolled  away. 

Basil  remained  to  the  last,  saw  the  musicians  depart,  and  the 
lights  all  out.  Then  he  sent  for  Madeleine,  and  asked  if  there 
was  any  thing  he  could  do,  and,  finding  that  there  was  nothing, 
took  his  departure  for  a  few  hours'  sleep,  promising  to  be  back 
early  in  the  morning. 

"  Don't  hasten  back  under  the  impression  that  you  can  do 
any  thing,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  see  that  it  will  be  the  old  story. 
Mary  has  recovered  from  her  swoon,  but  she  is  suffering  with 
dreadful  paroxysms  of  heart-disease." 

It  was  the  old  story.  Terrible  suffering  came  on  as  soon 
as  Miss  Carlisle  recovered  from  unconsciousness — indeed,  she 
opened  her  eyes  with  a  great  gasp  of  agony.  Neither  the  doc- 
tor, nor  Jessie,  nor  yet  Madeleine,  was  surprised.  They  had 
expected  much  such  a  finale.  Yet  it  was  a  strange  ending 
— this  vigil  by  a  bed  of  pain — to  the  night  which  had  begun  so 
differently  for  them.  Among  these  watchers,  it  may  be  remarked 
that  Mrs.  Ingram  was  distinguished  by  her  absence.  She  retired 
to  her  couch,  while  Devereux  solaced  his  anxieties  by  a  cigar, 
as  he  sat  alone  in  the  library  and  watched  the  lightning  in  the 
east,  which  showed  the  coming  of  the  winter  dawn.  The  morn- 
ing star  rose  radiantly — rose  with  a  splendor  which  fascinated 
even  his  indifferent  eyes — the  glory  of  sunrise  filled  the  whole 
eastern  horizon,  and  finally  the  sun  himself  appeared,  and  sent 
his  red  lances  over  the  earth. 

Then  the  gazer  by  the  library-window  rose  also — somewhat 
listlessly — and,  opening  the  sash,  walked  out  into  the  sharp, 
frosty  air.  The  morning  was  like  a  flawless  crj^stal  in  its  clear- 
ness and  brightness.  It  revived  him  more  than  any  thing  else 
possibly  could  have  done.  The  lassitude  of  watching  passed 
away ;  his  spirits  regained  their  elasticity.     "  A  walk  will  help 


3G2  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

me,"  he  said.     "  I  shall  go  into  Stansbury,  change  my  dress,  and 
be  back  before  any  one  here  is  aware  that  it  is  daj-." 

An  hour  later  he  had  not  yet  returned,  when  Madeleine 
stood  in  the  library  with  the  doctor,  and  listened  w^ith  a  white 
face  while  he  told  her  that  Mary's  illness  w^as  fatal.  "  I  do  not 
say  that  she  will  die  at  once,"  he  added  ;  "  she  may  linger  for 
days,  and  even  weeks,  but  there  is  no  hope  of  recovery.  The 
organic  disease  has  greatly  increased  since  I  examined  her  heart 
the  last  time.  I  have  feared  during  the  last  few  hours  that  she 
would  die  in  every  paroxysm.  If  you  wish  to  satisfy  yourself 
by  calling  in  another  physician — " 

"  Do  as  3^ou  think  best,"  said  Madeleine.  She  spoke  like 
one  stunned  :  she  could  scarcely  understand :  she  could  not  at 
all  realize.  "  Mary  has  all  confidence  in  your  skill,"  she  said, 
"and  so  have  I,  but  O  doctor" — she  held  out  her  hands  with 
a  gesture  so  imploring  that  it  was  almost  passionate — "  do  you 
mean  that  there  is  7io  hope  ?  " 

The  doctor  took  the  hands  and  wrung  them  hard.  His  own 
eyes  were  moist,  for  he  had  known  Mary  from  her  infancy. 
"  God  knows,"  he  said,  "  that  I  would  willingly  believe  other- 
wise, and  still  more  willingly  keep  the  truth  from  you,  if  there 
was  any  good  in  doing  so — but  there  is  none.  A  terrible  ordeal 
is  before  j'ou,  and  you  are  not  like  other  women.  To  know  the 
worst  is  not,  with  vou,  to  shrink  from  it." 

"  You  don't  know — you  don't  know !  "  said  Madeleine,  broken- 
ly. "  I  have  never  been  tried  like  this  before.  I  have  never  had 
to  stand  by  and  see  one  whom  I  loved — O  doctor !  is  it  true  ? 
Do  you  mean  that  Mary  will  die  f  " 

Her  lips  faltered  over  the  last  word.  She  broke  down,  and, 
with  a  great  sob  of  tearless  grief,  sank  on  the  sofa  and  turned  her 
face  away  from  the  light. 

"  Poor  child ! "  said  the  doctor.  Then  he  walked  away — 
walked  to  the  window  through  which  Devereux  had  passed  out. 
It  did  not  seem  strange  to  him  that  this  burden  should  fall  on 
Madeleine,  for  he  recognized,  like  every  one  else,  that  she  was 
made  to  bear  burdens,  but  he  wondered  a  little  where  was  the 


"WHEN  THE   LAMP   IS   SHATTERED."  363 

man  to  whom  Mary  was  engaged,  and  how  he  would  bear  the 
blow  which  threatened  to  WTest  from  him  all  that  he  had  schemed 
to  win.  It  will  be  perceived  from  this  that  Dr.  Arthur  shared 
the  opinion  of  the  rest  of  Stansburj  with  regard  to  Devereux's 
interested  motives. 

Only  a  minute  or  two  passed  in  silence  while  he  stood  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  brow  slightly  corrugated,  con- 
sidering these  things.  Then  Madeleine  rose  and  came  to  his  side 
— the  early  sunlight  falling  over  her  face  and  showing  the  great 
chano-e  that  even  a  few  hours  had  wrouo:ht  in  it.  She  touched 
his  arm,  and,  when  he  turned,  lifted  her  eyes — ringed  already  by 
dark  circles — with  the  mute  look  of  suffering  in  their  depths, 
which  is  never  to  be  mistaken  and  difficult  to  be  forgotten. 

^'  If  it  is  true,"  she  said,  "  if  there  is  no  hope,  Mary  must 
know." 

"  Must  know ! "  repeated  Dr.  Arthur,  taken  greatly  by  sur- 
prise. "  Good  Heavens,  Miss  Severn  !  you  surely  don't  consider 
what  you  are  saying  ?  I  did  not  expect  such  a  proposal.  From 
a  medical  point  of  view  nothing  is  worse,  nothing  is  more  ill- 
judged,  or  more  certain  to  work  ill-results  than  to  let  a  patient 
suspect  her  danger." 

"  From  a  medical  point  of  view,  perhaps  people  have  not  souls 
to  be  saved,"  said  Madeleine,  quietly,  "  but  from  a  Christian 
point  of  view  they  have.  Besides,  I  am  bound  by  a  promise  to 
Mary.  Long  ago  she  begged  me  to  be  with  her  when — when 
the  end  came,  and  not  to  let  her  die  in  ignorance." 

Dr.  Arthur  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Like  many  of  his  pro- 
fession, he  thought  it  great  folly  of  peoj^le  to  want  to  know 
when  they  were  going  to  die.  It  agitated  their  minds,  dis- 
turbed the  effect  of  the  medicines,  made  unpleasant  scenes,  and  al- 
together was  not  nearly  so  convenient  as  when  they  were  content 
to  pass  quietly  away,  in  that  ignorance  which  the  medical  mind 
esteems  desirable,  to  wake — like  many  others,  he  never  troubled 
himself  to  consider  where.  In  fact,  if  he  had  been  closely  interro- 
gated, some  of  his  patients  might  have  been  shocked  to  find  that  he 
did  not  think  them  exceedingly  likely  to  wake  anywhere  at  alL 


364  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"You  must  do  as  you  like,  of  course,"  he  said,  a  little  stifllj^, 
•'  but  I  warn  you  that  the  consequences  may  be  very  serious." 

"  Whatever  they  are,  slie  must  know  the  truth,"  said  Made- 
leine in  a  tone  which,  together  with  the  firmness  of  her  lips  and 
the  steady  light  in  her  eyes,  showed  that  no  warning  would  alter 
her  resolution. 

The  doctor  reflected  for  a  minute.  Then  he  said  reluctantly : 
"  Perhaps  in  the  case  of  one  who  possesses  such  a  property  as 
hers,  it  might  be  well  to  give  her  an  opportunity  to  put  her  af- 
fairs in  order.  But  do  not  be  precipitate.  So  far  as  I  can  judge, 
there  is  no  danger  of  immediate  death.  I  will  bring  Dr.  Thorn- 
ton this  morning,  and  we  will  make  a  thorough  examination  of 
the  heart.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  suggest,  would  it  not  be  well 
also  to  consult  Mr.  Devereux?" 

"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  him,"  said  Madeleine.  She  looked 
round  as  if  she  expected  to  find  him  near.  "  He  ought  to  be 
here,"  she  said.     "  He  told  me  he  would  stay." 

"  Probably  he  has  gone  up-stairs  to  sleep,"  said  the  doctor. 

Madeleine  rang  the  bell,  and  when  Albert  appeared,  inquired 
if  Mr.  Devereux  was  in  the  house.  Albert  was  unable  to  say, 
but  he  went  at  once  in  search  of  him,  returning  speedily  with 
the  intelligence  that  he  was  not  to  be  found.  After  a  few  more 
words,  the  doctor  took  his  departure — Mary  being  then  quite 
under  the  influence  of  an  anodyne — promising  to  return  in  an 
hour  or  two  with  Dr.  Thornton. 

Left  alone  in  this  manner  with  her  burden  of  grief  and  re- 
sponsibility, Madeleine  paced  the  floor  for  a  few  minutes,  scarce- 
ly knowing  what  she  did.  Then  the  impulse  which  in  pain  or 
trouble  always  carries  one  of  her  faith  to  the  sanctuary,  came 
over  her,  and  leaving  the  room,  she  went  up-stairs  to  a  small 
oratory  next  Mary's  chamber.  Her  convent  education  had  made 
her  a  Catholic,  and  Mary  had  willingly  followed  whither  she  led. 
Here  they  had  often  knelt  together,  and  here  now  Madeleine 
sank  on  the  ^9r^e--D/e^^  placed  before  the  altar,  and  poured  out 
her  soul  in  sobbing  prayer,  while  from  the  crucifix,  that  "  throne 
of  love,"  the  thorn-crowned  head  bent  tenderly  toward  her. 


"WHEX  THE   LAMP   IS   SHATTERED."  365 

"When  she  rose  from  her  knees,  a  consciousness  of  calmness 
and  strength  had  come  to  her — that  strength  which  often  up- 
holds, almost  miraculously,  through  such  scenes  as  those  which 
lay  before  her.  She  left  the  oratory  and  entered  Mary's  room, 
where  she  found  her  still  sleeping,  with  Jessie  watching  by  her 
side.  Wondering  then  if  Devereux  had  come,  she  went  down- 
stairs again,  and  met  him  entering  the  hall. 

He  came  forward  eagerly  and  took  her  hand,  which  felt  cold 
in  his  own.  "  You  look  wretchedly,"  he  said,  forgetting  polite- 
ness in  truth.  "  What  a  night  you  have  passed,  and  I  could  do 
nothing  to  help  you  !     How  is  Mary  ?" 

"  She  is  better — that  is,  she  is  quiet,"  answered  Madeleine, 
too  much  preoccupied  to  notice  that  thought  of  her  went  before 
thought  of  Mary  in  his  mind.  "  But  she  is  very  ill.  Come  in 
here,  I  must  speak  to  you." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  library,  where  during  her  absence  the 
housemaid  had  been  at  work,  and  every  thing  was  now  in  order, 
a  bright  fire  burning,  the  sunlight  lying  on  the  carpet,  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  room  cheerful  and  pleasant.  "  Have  you  been  to 
breakfast  ?  "  Madeleine  said,  turning  to  her  companion.  "  I  had 
a  cup  of  coffee  with  the  doctor  some  time  ago.  If  you  would 
like  any  thing — " 

"I  breakfasted  in  Stansbury,"  he  said.  "Do  not  trouble 
yourself  about  that.  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter.  Is  Mary  dan- 
gerously ill  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  tenderness  and  pain, 
shining  through  unshed  tears.  "  How  can  I  teU  you  ?  "  she 
said.  "  And  yet  I  must !  She  is  not  only  dangerously,  but  also 
hopelessly  ill." 

He  started  and  gazed  at  her  with  paling  face  and  incredu- 
lous eyes.  For  a  moment  his  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  The 
shock  was  overwhelming.  He  had  anticipated  nothing  like  this, 
and  he  could  say  nothing  more  than,  "  My  God  !  and  I  have  been 
thinking  so  lightly  of  her  illness  !  " 

"  You  did  not  see  her,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Her  suffering  has 
been  terrible,  and  the  doctor  feared   (so  he  told  me  afterward) 


3G6  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

that  she  would  die  m  one  of  the  paroxysms.  Now  she  is  quiet, 
and  he  says  that  she  may  live  for  days,  or  even  weeks,  or — she 
may  die  to-morrow." 

Her  voice  fell  over  the  last  words,  and  silence  followed  them. 
Devereux  sat  like  one  struck  dumb  ;  in  the  tumult  of  emotion 
which  took  possession  of  him,  he  could  neither  tell  what  feeling 
was  uppermost,  nor  give  expression  to  any.  It  was  Madeleine 
who  spoke  again  after  a  minute. 

"  I  fear  I  have  been  too  abrupt,"  she  said,  "  Forgive  me.  I 
would  have  prepared  you  if  I  had  known  how  to  do  so.  But  I 
have  always  felt  that  I  would  rathep  know  the  worst  at  once, 
and  I  judged  you  by  myself." 

"  You  were  altogether  right,"  he  said,  a  little  hoarsely. 
"  Only  I — I  cannot  realize  it.     Last  night  she  was  so  well — " 

''  Only  well  in  appearance,"  said  Madeleine,  as  he  paused. 
"  The  doctor  says  that  the  organic  disease  of  her  heart  has 
greatly  increased  since  he  examined  it  last.  He  will  bring  Dr. 
Thornton  with  him  when  he  comes  back  in  an  hour  or  two,  but 
there  is  no  hope.     He  says  we  must  understand  that." 

"Does  she  know?"  he  asked,  speaking  with  that  effort 
which  always  shows  when  a  man  feels  deeply. 

"  Not  yet,"  Madeleine  answered,  "  but  I  see  you  think  as  I 
do,  that  she  must  know.  There  is  no  time  for  delay — an  hour 
may  end  all.  We  have  no  right  to  keep  her  in  ignorance.  Will 
you  tell  her  ? — It  is  your  right." 

He  shrank  back.  "  Great  Heaven — no  !  "  he  said.  "  I ! 
"^^Tiat  fitness  have  I  for  such  a  duty  ?  " 

"  I  think  such  news — which,  after  all,  ought  not  to  be  very 
terrible  news  to  one  who  believes,  loves,  and  hopes — comes  best 
from  the  lips  which  are  dearest  to  us,"  she  answered,  simjDly. 
"  You  have  that  much  fitness,  if  no  more.  But  if  you  do  not 
feel  able  to  do  it,  I  will." 

"  You  shame  my  cowardice,"  he  said,  "  but  it  is  best  so. 
You  are  fit  for  such  a  task — I  am  not." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  some  of  the  tears,  with  which  her 
eyes  were  brimming,  fell.     "  I  have  no  fitness  at  all,"  she  said, 


"WHEX    TUE   LAMP   IS  SHATTERED."  3G7 

*'  except  tliat  God  gives  it  to  me  to  do,  and  therefore  He  may 
teach  me  how  to  do  it.     Now,  I  will  go  to  her.     You  must  stay , 
here.     She  may  ask  for  j'ou  when  she  wakes." 

Mary  did  ask  for  him  when  she  woke.  As  Madeleine  bent 
over  her,  she  whispered  faintly,  "  ^Yhere  is  Arnold  ?  " — so  she 
had  of  late  begun  to  call  him. 

"  He  is  down-stairs,"  Madeleine  answered.  "  Do  you  wish  to 
see  him  ?     He  has  been  waiting  for  you  to  send  for  him." 

"  Presently — not  now,"  Mary  answered.  She  uttered  these 
few  words  slowly  and  laboredly,  conscious  that  the  least  excite- 
ment would  bring  on  another  awful  spasm  of  pain.  Several 
minutes  elapsed  before  she  spoke  again ;  then  her  lids  trem- 
bled, though  they  did  not  unclose,  and  her  slender  fingers  clasped 
closer  round  Madeleine's  hand. 

"  I  am  going  to  die,  am  I  not  ?  "  she  said. 

The  question  was  so  unexpected  and  so  startling  that  Made- 
leine did  not  know  how  to  answer.  It  was  some  time  before 
she  could  command  her  voice  sufficiently  to  ask,  "  Why  do  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  never  suffered  so  much  before,"  said  Mary, 
"  and  because — of  the  doctor's  voice  and  yours.  Don't  be  afraid 
to  tell  me — I  want  to  know.     I  have  a  great  deal  to  do." 

Madeleine  sank  on  her  knees,  and,  kissing  the  frail  hand 
which  she  held,  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "  every  thing  is  as  God  wills,  but  we  fear — the  worst." 

"  The  worst !  "  repeated  Mary.  She  paused  for  a  moment, 
as  if  reflectinor,  with  none  of  the  as^itation  which  Madeleine 
dreaded  on  her  face.  "  You  should  rather  say  the  best,"  she 
added.  "Whatever  God  wills  must  be  best,  and  then — perhaps 
I  have  done  my  work  in  the  world.  When  that  is  the  case  God 
calls  one,  does  He  not  ?  Pray  for  me,  dear — but  don't  be  sorry. 
God  knows  best." 

It  is  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  sweetness  and  quiet- 
ness which  filled  these  w^ords — sweetness  distilled,  as  it  were, 
from  self-conquest,  quietness  without  an  effort.  Faith  had  al- 
ways seemed  a  very  simple  thing  to  this  blind  girl.     She  had 


3G8  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

the  trust  of  a  child,  and  even  in  this  supreme  hour  when  the 
•  necessity  came  to  her  of  leaving  life,  and  wealth,  and  love  be- 
hind, she  was  able  to  say  like  a  child,  "  God  knows  best."  To 
Madeleine  such  an  act  of  resignation  was  not  so  easy.  She 
had  uttered  it,  but  who  has  not  learned  that,  even  while  the  soul 
bows  in  obedience,  the  heart  cries  out  passionately  against 
the  pain  of  some  parting  that  seems  to  rend  its  very  fibres 
apart  ? 

*'  O  Mary,  my  darling,  my  sister !  "  she  cried,  '•  I  cannot 
give  3^ou  up  ! — I  cannot  feel  that  it  is  best — so  gentle,  so  no- 
bfe,  so  loving !     Oh,  why  should  your  life  be  cut  short  ?  " 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  "  said  Mary,  softly.  "  Only  God— but  He 
knows.  Think,  dear  !  I  have  not  done  much  harm  in  my  life,  and 
T  have  tried  to  do  what  good  I  could.  Is  it  likelj^,  then,  that 
our  blessed  Lord — so  merciful  and  kind — will  deal  hardly  with 
me  ?  Where  we  love,  we  trust ;  and  I  love  him.  Don't  grieve, 
then  !  It  is  hard  to  leave  j^ou — oh,  very  hard ! — but  I  shall  also 
leave  care  and  responsibility,  and  pain.  I  shall  be  safe  from  sin, 
and  I  shall  see." 

She  opened  her  eyes  at  the  last  word,  as  if  sight  had  already 
come  to  them.  Then  she  took  up  a  crucifix  which  lay  beside 
her  and  gently  kissed  it,  whispering  a  few  words  of  praj^er. 
That  calm  which  often  comes  at  death  to  the  great  in  faith  and 
the  pure  of  heart,  seemed  breathed  over  her  like  a  benediction. 
And  what  could  Madeleine  say  ?  What  can  any  of  us  say  when 
God  calls,  and,  like  soldiers,  those  whom  we  love  must  rise  up 
and  obey  ? 

Not  long  after  this  the  two  doctors  came.  They  examined 
the  patient  with  great  attention,  then  held  a  consultation  of 
some  length,  and  finally  gave  their  formal  decision  that  Mary 
Carlisle's  life  could  now  only  be  counted  by  days — perhaps  only 
by  hours. 

Hearing  this — for  she  insisted  upon  hearing  it — Mary  asked 
for  Devereux.  He  went  to  her  at  once,  and  Madeleine  left 
them  together. 

An  hour,  two  hours,  three  hours  elapsed,  before  the  door  of 


THE   LAST   OF  EARTH.  3G9 

the  sick  girl's  clianiber  opened  again.  Meanwhile,  Stansbury 
rano-  with  the  news  which  Dr.  Arthur  had  taken  there,  and  all 
who  had  any  claim  of  blood  or  friendship  authorizing  them  to 
do  so,  came  to  the  Lodge.  Madeleine  was  not  able  to  see  these 
solicitous  friends,  but  Mrs.  Severn  had  accompanied  Basil  when 
he  returned,  and  the  duty  fell  on  her,  shice  Mrs.  Ingram  proved 
as  thoroughly  useless  in  this  as  in  every  other  emergency. 

So  the  day  wore  on — dropping  its  minutes  and  hours  into 
eternity — and  when  at  length  Devereux  left  Miss  Carlisle's 
room,  he  came  to  Madeleine,  looking  pale  and  grief-stricken, 
but  composed. 

"  Mary  wishes,"  he  said,  "  to  see  a  lawyer  and  a  priest." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE     LAST     OF     EAETH. 

Whex  it  was  known  in  Stansbury  that  James  Champion  had 
been  summoned  to  the  Lodge,  a  thrill  went  through  every  one 
to  whom  the  intelligence  was  communicated.  Men  looked  at 
each  other  and  said,  "  She  means  to  make  her  will."  This 
suggestion  once  uttered — authorized,  indeed,  by  that  summons 
of  a  law^yer — it  is  needless  to  detail  the  endless  field  of  conjec- 
ture which  it  opened.  Speculation  was  rife ;  to  whom  would 
the  property  go  ?  People  in  general  inclined  to  the  opinion 
that  she  would  leave  it  to  Devereux — perhaps  even  that,  follow- 
ing romantic  precedent,  she  might  marry  him  on  her  death-bed ; 
while  others  espoused  the  cause  of  her  relations,  and  a  few  sug- 
gested that  "  the  Severns  might  come  in  for  a  share."  Those 
who  knew  the  value  of  this  rich  inheritance,  shook  their  heads 
to  think  that  it  should  all  hang  on  a  girl's  dying  caprice. 

This  girl,  meanwhile,  saw  her  lawyer,  as  she  had  seen  her 
lover,  alone,  and  gave  him  her  instructions  with  great  clearness 
and  calmness.     That  these  instructions  surprised  him   exceed- 


J  70  A   QUESTION    OF  UONOR. 

iiigly,  no  one  could  liave  looked  at  Lis  face  and  doubted.  Re- 
membering that  lie  was  a  friend  as  well  as  a  lawyer,  he  ventured 
to  utter  a  remonstrance,  but  Mary  stopped  him — gently,  but  with 
decision. 

"  It  is  a  matter  which  rests  Avith  me  alone,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
sure  you  mean  well,  and  I  thank  you  for  this,  as  for  all  other  kind- 
ness ;  but  T  cannot  accept  any  advice.  My  resolution  is  taken. 
Make  the  will  as  I  have  told  you,  and  let  me  sign  it.  Then  I 
shall  be  satisfied.  Remember,  I  trust  to  vour  honor  that  it  shall 
be  exactly  as  I  have  said,  and  with  no  legal  flaw — for  it  must  rest 
betwen  us  two.  Give  me  your  hand,  and  promise  me  that  you 
will  tell  no  one — not  even  your  wife — what  it  is,  until  I  am  dead." 

He  gave  her  his  hand,  and  promised  in  a  voice  that  faltered 
over  the  words.  Even  James  Champion  had  a  tender  place  in 
his  heart  for  Mary  Carhsle.  "  God  grant  that  you  may  live  to 
put  the  instrument  in  the  fire,"  he  said,  "  and  enjoy  your  wealth 
for  many  years  !  " 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling  faintly.  "  That  will  not  be,"  she 
answered.  "  Now  do  not  lose  any  time.  Remember  that  my 
hours  are  numbered." 

He  went  immediately  to  draw  up  the  will,  and  it  was  then 
that  Mary's  sufl^ering  returned — sufiering  too  terrible  to  dwell 
upon.  It  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  a  short  period  of  re- 
lief came  to  her.  The  will  had  already  been  signed — in  the 
intervals  of  her  agony  she  had  insisted  upon  doing  that — and 
witnessed.  Now  she  called  for  Jessie,  and  begged  every  one 
else — even  Madeleine  and  Devereux — to  go  away.  "  It  is  the 
last  of  my  private  interviews,"  she  said,  "  except,  indeed,  the 
most  private  of  all,  when  Father  Vaughn  comes." 

When  Jessie  came — poor,  faithful  Jessie,  who  felt  that  it  would 
be  easy  to  die  instead  of  the  child  of  her  love ! — Mary  bade  her 
close  the  door,  and  bring  writing-materials  to  the  side  of  the  bed. 
Then  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  had  grown  fainter,  "  You  must 
promise  me  that  you  will  write  exactly  what  I  dictate,  and  that 
nothing  shall  induce  you  to  tell  to  any  one  what  I  have  written, 
so  long  as  you  live." 


THE  LAST   OF  EARTH  371 

"  I'll  promise  you  a  thousand  times  if  you  like,"  said  Jessie, 
*'but,  O  Miss  Mary,  it's  strange  you  should  begin,  after  all  these 
years,  to  think  it's  needful  for  me  to  promise  to  do  whatever  you 
say ;  and  as  for  telling — not  tortures  could  drag  out  of  me  any 
thing  you  wanted  me  to  keep." 

"  I  know  you  are  true  as  steel,"  said  Mary,  tenderly,  "  but 
still,  my  mind  will  be  easier  if  you  promise.  Come  here — kneel 
down  by  me,  and  tell  me  you  will  remember  that  I  trust  you  in 
this,  as  I  could  trust  no  one  else  on  earth ;  that  I,  who  am  blind, 
thank  God  for  the  gift  of  a  friend  so  faithful  that  not  only  have 
I  relied  on  her  during  all  my  life,  but  I  call  on  her  for  the  last 
earthly  semce  which  any  one  can  render  me,  now  I  am  dying. 
Tell  me  that  you  will  remember  this,  dear  Jessie,  and  then  prom- 
ise never  to  repeat  what  I  shall  dictate  to  you." 

"  I  promise — O  my  dearie,  my  dearie,  don't  you  Jcnoic  that  I 
promise,  as  God  hears  me,  to  do  every  thing  you  saj-,  and  keep 
any  thing  you  trust  me  with,  to  my  dying  day!"  cried  Jessie, 
breaking  into  passionate  sobs.  "  I  knelt  down  by  your  mother 
just  this  way  and  I  promised  her  to  be  true  to  you,  and  never 
leave  you,  and  haven't  I  kept  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary, "  in  letter  and  in  spirit  you  have  kept  your 
promise  as  few  people  ever  do.  My  dear  Jessie !  You  will 
grieve  for  me,  and  miss  me  longer,  perhaps,  than  any  one  else. 
I  wish  I  could  say  something  to  comfort  you,  but  I  can  only  say 
this — I  love  you,  and  God  knows  best.  Remember  these  two 
things,  and  serve  God  as  well  as  you  have  served  me.  I  do  not 
think  that  even  He  could  ask  much  more." 

She  paused — evidently  exhausted.  Her  strength  was  small, 
and  her  respiration  difficult.  For  the  space  of  two  or  three  min- 
utes no  sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  room,  save  Jessie's  sobs 
— deep  and  convulsive  almost  as  a  man's.  Fearing  that  her  grief 
might  agitate  Mary,  she  was  striving  hard  to  repress  it,  and  when 
at  last  she  succeeded  in  a  measure,  the  sick  girl  spoke. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose.  You  must  write  what  I  want  at 
once.  Are  you  sure  the  doors  are  closed  and  no  one  can  hear  ? 
Then  get  your  paper  ready,  and  begin." 


372  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

A  little  more  of  suffering  for  one,  of  watching  and  grief  for 
man}',  and  tlie  end  came.  It  was  on  Friday — that  day  forever 
sacred  to  tlie  Christian  heart.  Mary's  jiaroxysms  of  pain  were 
terrible  till  near  mid-day.  Then  they  abated  somewhat,  but  this 
respite  was  different  from  any  which  had  gone  before.  She  was 
sinking  visibly — that  change,  unlike  any  which  mortality  knows, 
was  plainly  stamped  on  her  sharpened  face — and  those  around 
her  scarcely  needed  for  the  doctor  to  say,  "  She  is  dying." 

She  smiled — a  faint,  shadowy,  unearthly  smile — when  she 
heard  this.  "  Djang !  "  she  whispered,  so  softlj^  that  only  Devereux, 
in  whose  arms  she  lay,  caught  the  words.  Then  she  repeated  that 
touching  cr}'  of  the  blind  man  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  "  Lord,  that 
I  may  see ! "  After  a  short  pause,  she  added,  "  It  is  strange,  and 
yet  not  terrible — this  dying.  Remember  that,  and  don't  shrink 
from  thinking  of  me  after  I  am  gone.  I  should  like  you  to  think 
of  me  sometimes,  and  say,  *  She  loved  me  very  much,  and  even 
if  she  had  lived,  she  would  have  tried  to  make  me  happy.' " 

He  could  scarcely  answer  her — when  he  did,  he  murmured, 
brokenly  :  "  For  God's  sake,  don't  say  such  things  unless  you 
want  to  stab  me  to  the  heart  with  their  recollection  !  If  you 
could  only  live — if  God  would  only  let  you  live — I  should  try 
with  all  my  heart  and  strength  to  make  you  happy." 

Even  then  her  exquisite  consideration  showed.  She  uttered 
no  further  word  in  which  lurked  the  shadow  of  reproach.  Her 
fragile  fingers  pressed  his  hand  as  she  said,  "  You  have  made 
me  happy — don't  forget  that !  I  have  been  happier  since  I  knew 
you  than  ever  before  in  all  my  life.  No  such  happiness  had  ever 
come  to  me  until  then,  and  I  thank  God  for  a  taste — even  for  a 
taste  of  it.  If  it  was  not  perfect,  what  is  perfect  on  earth  ?  It 
is  only  in  heaven  we  can  look  for  that.  Ah,  pray  for  me — pray 
for  me,  that  I  may  find  it  there  !  " 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment — lying  so  still,  with  her  breast 
scarcely  stirring  in  its  difficult  respiration,  that  those  around 
looked  at  each  other  w^ith  questioning  terror  in  their  eyes.  Had 
the  end  come  ?  Was  she  to  slip  away  from  them  thus,  without 
those  consolations  which  religion  brings  to  the  bed  of  death — 


THE  LAST   OF  EARTH.  3;3 

for  the  priest  who  had  been  suinnioned  was  absent  from  Stans- 
bury,  and  had  not  yet  arrived  ? 

But  the  soul  was  not  yet  ready  to  go  forth.  Again  the  pale 
lips  unclosed.  She  put  out  her  hand,  saying,  "  Is  Madeleine 
here  ?  " 

"  I  am  here,"  answered  Madeleine,  choking  back  her  grief. 
She  took  the  hand,  kissed  and  softly  stroked  it.  "  Is  there  any 
thing  you  wish  to  say  ? — is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Marj',  faintly.  "  There  is  a  key  hanging 
round  my  neck  which  j'ou  must  take — after  a  while.  It  is  the 
key  of  my  desk,  and  I  give  it  to  you — the  desk,  I  mean.  There 
is  a  letter  in  it  for  you — j'ou  only  !  " 

"I  understand,"  said  Madeleine,  "I  will  find  it.  Do  not 
think  I  shall  not  do  all  you  ask." 

"  Will  you  remember  that  ?  "  said  Mary.  "  Will  you  do  all 
I  ask  ?     If  you  can  promise  me — " 

But  Madeleine  was  spared  a  promise  which  she  had  no 
thought  of  refusing  to  make,  and  the  memory  of  which  might 
have  weighed  upon  her  in  the  time  to  come.  At  that  moment 
there  was  a  stir  about  the  door  which  attracted  even  Mary's  at- 
tention and  made  her  pause.  "Is  it  Father  Vaughn?"  she 
whispered,  and  Madeleine  turned.  A  delicately-formed,  dark- 
eyed  man,  wearing  the  dress  of  an  ecclesiastic,  entered  the  room. 
In  his  face  was  the  peculiar  mingling  of  asceticism  and  sweetness 
well  known  to  all  those  who  are  acquainted  with  that  heroic 
army  called  the  Catholic  priesthood.  He  came  in  rapidly,  and 
when  he  saw  that  he  was  not  too  late,  he  turned  to  Madeleine. 

"  I  was  on  the  mission,"  he  said,  "  remote  from  railroads. 
Your  telegram  onlj'  reached  me  yesterday.  Thank  God  I  am  in 
time !  " 

The  scen^  which  followed  was  not  one  which,  on  such  a  page 
as  this,  can  be  described  in  detail.  The  children  of  the  Church 
know  that  those  sacraments  which,  with  inspired  wisdom  and 
tenderness,  she  reserves  for  the  hour  of  death,  to  aid  the  soul  as 
it  passes  through  the  Dark  Valley,  are  the  most  touching  and 
sublime  of  all  her  offices.     So  long  as  men  believe  that  they  have 


374:  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

a  soul,  so  long  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  learned  and  un- 
learned, will  own  the  divine  majesty  of  the  viaticum  which 
strengthens,  of  the  holj  unction  which  purifies,  and  feel  the  beau- 
ty of  those  words  which  for  centuries  have  fallen  on  the  djdng 
ears  of  all  the  faithful.  Around  the  lowliest  death-bed  on  earth 
they  summon  such  state  as  no  monarch  was  ever  able  to  command. 
They  bid  the  standard-bearer,  St.  Michael,  conduct  the  departing 
spirit  into  the  holy  light,  they  call  upon  the  noble  company  of 
angels  to  meet  it,  upon  the  court  of  Apostles  and  the  triumphant 
army  of  martyrs  to  receive  it,  upon  the  crowd  of  joyful  con- 
fessors to  encompass  it,  and  upon  the  choir  of  blessed  virgins 
to  go  before  it.  They  invoke  a  happy  rest  for  its  portion  in  the 
company  of  the  i^atriarchs,  and  they  pray  that  Jesus  Christ  may 
appear  with  a  mild  and  cheerful  countenance  to  give  it  a  place 
among  those  who  are  in  His  presence  forever. 

The  last  sacraments  had  been  administered,  the  litany  for  a 
departing  soul  had  been  said,  and  yet  the  feeble  breath  still  came 
through  Mary's  lips.  It  has  been  well  remarked  that  this  life 
which  is  so  hard  to  enter,  and  so  bitter  to  live,  is  harder  yet  to 
end — but  is  it  possible  to  forget  Who  hung  for  three  hours  upon 
the  cross  ?  Mary  remembered  this,  as  those  around  her  knew 
when,  as  the  clock  struck  three,  she  murmured,  "  Father,  into 
thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit" — words  which  fell  from  the  lips 
of  God,  and  fittest,  therefore,  for  the  last  act  of  the  dying. 

Then  in  the  midst  of  that  strange  hush  which  falls  in  the 
chamber  of  death,  while  the  rest  were  holding  back  their  sobs 
that  they  might  not  disturb  the  soul  engaged  in  that  last  com- 
bat which  the  Church  warns  her  children  will  be  the  most  terri- 
ble they  have  to  fight,  the  clear,  solemn  tones  of  the  priest's 
voice  rose  in  that  command  for  which  the  spirit  often  seems  to 
wait: 

"  Depart,  O  Christian  soul,  out  of  this  miserable  world,  in 
the  name  of  God  the  Father  Almighty  who  created  thee ;  in  the 
name  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God,  who  suffered 
for  thee ;  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  who  sanctified  thee  ; 


THE   LAST   OF  EARTH.  375 

in  the  name  of  the  Angels,  Archangels,  Thrones,  Dominations, 
Cherubim,  and  Seraphim ;  in  the  name  of  the  patriarchs  and 
prophets,  of  the  holy  Apostles  and  Evangelists,  of  the  holy  mar- 
tyrs and  confessors,  of  the  holy  monks  and  hermits,  of  the  holy 
virgins,  and  of  all  the  Saints  of  God ;  let  thy  place  be  this  day 
in  peace,  and  thy  abode  in  holy  Zion  ;  through  Christ  our  Lord. 

Before  the  last  words  were  spoken,  Mary's  eyes  opened  with 
a  sudden,  bright,  seeing  look,  the  lips  formed  for  the  last  time 
into  a  faint  sweet  smile,  and  then,  with  one  soft  sigh,  the  spirit 
passed  to  God — passed  without  a  struggle,  seemingly  without  a 
pang,  so  gently  that  not  even  Devereux,  on  whose  arm  she  lay, 
knew  the  truth  till  the  priest  began  the  De  Profiuidis  for  a  de- 
parted soul. 


BOOK  Y. 

TANGLED     THREADS. 


CHAPTER    I. 


AN    UNEXPECTED    INHEEITANCE. 


To  those  who  loved  her,  and  whose  lives  in  a  measure  re- 
volved around  hers,  the  w^orld  seemed  to  stand  still  after  Mary 
Carlisle's  death.  The  Lodge  was  closed,  the  mills  were  silent. 
When  the  funeral  was  over,  Mrs.  Ingrain  betook  herself  to  her 
friends  in  Stansbury,  while  Madeleine  and  Basil,  returning  to 
their  own  home,  looked  at  each  other  through  tear-filled  eyes — 
sorrowino"  as  for  the  most  tender  of  sisters. 

What  words  are  there  to  express  that  hlanJoiess  which  fol- 
lows in  the  train  of  death,  that  sense  of  intolerable  emptiness 
that  pervades  the  world  froTU  w^hich  one  presence  has  forever  de- 
parted ?  All  the  familiar  threads  of  life  are  to  be  taken  up  and 
knit  together  again,  and  how  have  we  the  heart  for  this  ?  Every 
thing  stabs  us  with  a  recollection,  ever}^  scene  is  fraught  with 
associations  that  we  never  recognized  before.  If  we  could  onlj 
remain  in  the  shadow  of  grief  we  should  be  content,  we  think ; 
but  life's  duties  claim  us,  the  world  goes  on  and  we  are  borne 
with  it,  all  the  manifold  acts  of  existence  lie  before  us  ;  ice  bare 
yet  to  hope  and  fear,  to  joy  and  suffer,  to  labor  and  endure,  and 
finally  to  die,  while  that  grave  from  which  w^e  turn,  marks  the 
warfare  of  one  soldier  ended,  the  armor  laid  dow^n,  the  han  Is 


AN   UNEXPECTED   INHERITANCE.  377 

folded,  the  tired  spirit  entered — pray  God ! — into  eternal  rest 
and  peace. 

These  were  the  thoughts — or,  rather,  the  sensations,  for  they 
did  not  form  themselves  into  thoughts — that  accompanied  Made- 
leine when,  on  the  day  following  the  one  which  had  seen  all  that 
was  mortal  of  Mary  Carlisle  committed  in  its  pale,  fair  beauty 
to  the  earth,  she  left  the  house,  impelled  by  a  fever  of  unrest. 
There  are  some  people  who  in  grief  shut  themselves  up  like 
wounded  animals,  and  shrink,  as  it  were,  from  the  light ;  but 
others  yearn  for  the  freedom  of  the  great  sky,  and  the  calm  face 
of  Nature.  Madeleine  was  one  of  the  last.  She  bore  confine- 
ment as  long  as  she  could — being  worn  out  in  physical  strength 
— but  at  last  the  restless  impulse  which  bade  her  go  forth  could 
no  longer  be  restrained.  She  put  on  her  hat,  and  when  Mrs. 
Severn  looked  at  her  solicitously,  she  said,  "  I  feel  prisoned  in 
the  house.  I  must  have  some  fresh  air.  If  Gordon  comes  while 
I  am  gone,  tell  him  I  shall  be  back  presently,  and  ask  him  to 
wait  for  me." 

As  she  passed  out,  Lance  came  and  thrust  his  cold  nose  into 
her  hand.  She  understood  the  mute  entreaty.  "  Yes,"  she  said, 
"you  may  come."  It  was  the  only  society  that  just  then  she 
could  have  borne. 

They  went  together  through  a  back  gate,  across  several  fields, 
and  finally  into  the  woods  which  Madeleine  had  in  view.  Rail- 
roads and  manufacturing  interests,  as  Mr.  Ruskin  laments,  are 
great  destroyers  of  the  picturesque;  yet  notwithstanding  their 
presence,  there  were  lovely  bits  of  natural  beauty  left  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Stansbury.  The  best  of  these  lay  around  Made- 
leine now,  but  she  hardlv  observed  them.  It  is  not  when  the 
heart  is  aching,  the  eyes  filled  with  tears,  that  we  are  best  fitted 
to  appreciate  the  graceful  lines  of  distant  heights  or  shadowy 
forests  fringing  the  horizon. 

Coming  at  last  to  a  hill  which  she  knew  well,  she  climbed  to 
a  favorite  seat  of  her  own — a  rock  on  the  western  slope.  Here 
she  sat  down,  with  Lance  crouched  lion-like  at  her  feet,  and 
gazed  across  all  the  wide  stretch  of  blue  undulating  countr}-  tc 


378  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

where  the  sun  was  sinking  in  one  of  those  ineffably  golden  skies 
which  mortal  minds  can  only  liken  to  the  glory  of  the  heavenly 
Zion.  "  O  Mary,  my  dear  Mary,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands, 
"you  can  see  now  !  That  radiance  yonder  is  poor  and  dim  com- 
pared to  the  beauty  which  has  been  shown  to  you !  Gentle 
heart,  true  and  tender  friend,  do  you  think  of  this  sad  earth  and 
those  whom  you  have  left  ?  Ah,  if  I  knew,  if  I  knew !  I  won- 
der did  I  ever  tell  you  how  much  I  loved  you  !  I  wonder  do  you 
know  how  much  I  miss  you,  and  shall  miss  you  always  till  we 
meet  again  !  How  wrong  I  am  to  grieve  ! " — her  tears  were  fall- 
ing thick  and  fast — "  I  ought  to  rejoice  for  you,  and  yet  I  can- 
not, for,  O  my  dear,  my  dear,  I  miss  you  so ! " 

The  sunset  faded,  arid  the  purple  dusk  fell  like  a  soft  veil 
over  the  landscape,  before  Madeleine  moved.  Then  rising  with 
a  last  low  sigh,  she  drew  her  shawl  around  her,  and  bade  Lance 
come.  They  descended  the  hill,  and  passed  along  a  gently-roll- 
ing valley,  through  which  flowed  the  stream  that  helped  to  turn 
the  great  machinery  of  the  Carlisle  mills.  Here  she  strolled 
slowly,  careless  of  the  deepening  twilight,  for  not  only  was  Lance 
by  her  side — a  guard  to  inspire  confidence  in  the  breast  of  the 
most  timid — but  she  knew  that  for  her  there  was  no  danger  of 
harm  or  insult.  The  poor  have  not  so  many  friends  that  they 
can  forget  those  who  have  been  kind  to  them — and  her  name 
and  presence  were  well  known  wherever  sickness  and  suffering 
had  set  their  mark. 

Hence  she  felt  no  uneasiness  when  she  saw  the  figure  of  a 
man  hastening  toward  her.  Indeed,  she  scarcely  observed  him 
further  than  to  think,  "  One  of  the  mill-hands,  probably,  going 
home  by  a  short  cut."  It  was  only  when  the  figure  drew  nearer 
that  she  saw  that  the  outlines  were  not  those  of  a  mill-hand,  but 
of  a  gentleman,  and  a  minute  or  two  later  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  Lacy. 

"  Gordon  !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  great  surprise.  "  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

"  What  should  I  be  doing  but  coming  after  you  ?  "  replied 
Gordon.     "  And  what  are  you  doing — at  this  hour  and  alone  ?  " 


AN  UNEXPECTED  INHEEITAXCE.  379 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  said  she.  "  I  have  been  to  walk,  and 
staid  a  little  later  than  I  intended,  watching  the  sunset — but 
Lance  is  with  me." 

"  It  is  altogether  wrong,"  said  Lacy,  taking  her  hand  and 
drawing  it  within  his  arm.  "  You  should  not  stroll  in  this  man- 
ner about  the  woods  alone — not  even  with  Lance,  though  I  own 
he  is  a  formidable-looking  protector.  You  had  not  been  gone 
ten  minutes,  Mrs.  Severn  said,  when  I  came  to  the  house.  After 
waiting  for  two  or  three  hours,  you  can  imagine  that  I  grew  un- 
easy, so  I  started  in  search  of  you,  and  was  fortunately  sent  in 
this  direction  by  two  boys  whom  I  met,  w^ho  reported  that  they 
had  seen  you  perched  on  the  side  of  Crag's  Hill." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come,"  said  Madeleine,  clinging 
to  him.  Her  heart  went  out  toward  him  as  it  had  not  done  in 
many  a  long  day  before.  She  felt  that  it  was  good  to  love  and 
be  loved,  good  to  hold  this  treasure  in  actual  possession  un- 
touched by  death's  terrible  hand.  The  reaction  from  much  grief 
— the  calm  that  follows  longing — fell  over  her.  She  felt  glad 
of  his  arm,  of  his  touch,  of  his  voice. 

"  Kind ! "  repeated  Lacy.  "  WTiat  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Is 
it  not  my  right  to  take  care  of  you  ?  Cherie,  even  in  this  light 
I  see  that  you  look  pale  and  worn — you  are  grieving  too  much ! 
Think  how  useless  it  is  !  No  grief  can  bring  your  friend  back, 
and — and  no  doubt  she  is  happy." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Madeleine.  She  said  no  more.  The  vague 
generalities  and  platitudes  in  which  people  indulge  on  this  sub- 
ject oppressed  her  with  their  forced  unreality,  and  she  felt  ner- 
vously averse  to  hearing  them  applied  to  Mary — Mary  who  had 
gone  w^ith  a  child's  unwavering  faith  whither  God's  voice  called. 

"  She  must  have  been  very  much  attached  to  you,"  said  Lacy, 
after  a  pause.  "  When  I  came  to  the  house  this  evening,  it  was 
with  Basil,  to  tell  you  some  news.  Her  w411,  which  was  left  in 
Champion's  hands,  was  opened  to-day." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Madeleine.  She  shrank,  as  who  that  has 
loved  the  dead  does  not  shrink  from  that  which  makes  death  so 
real  ?     "Don't  tell  me  about  it,"  she  said.     "  I  can't  bear  it — yet. 


380  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

I  think  there  must  have  been  great  anxiety  to  know  what  was 
in  it." 

"  Opening  it  was  a  matter  of  necessitj'-,"  said  Lacy.  "  Her 
relations  who  came  to  the  funeral  could  not  remain  longer.  It 
was  opened  by  their  desire  and  in  their  presence.  They  were 
very  much  astonished  when  the  truth  was  known,  for,  Madeleine, 
she  has  left  all  her  fortune  to  yow." 

"  Gordon  !  " 

This  was  all  Madeleine  could  say.  She  turned  so  white  that 
Lacy  involuntarily  put  his  arm  around  her,  the  whole  landscape 
seemed  to  whirl  before  her  eyes.  She  did  not  faint,  because 
she  was  almost  physically  incapable  of  such  a  thing,  but  a  feel- 
ing of  faintness  came  over  her.  It  could  not  be  true  !  Mary  could 
not  have  been  so  foolish — so  wild ! 

"  Sit  down  for  a  minute,"  said  Lacy,  placing  her  on  a  stump. 
"  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  abrupt.  I  ought  to  have  waited  till 
jou  were  at  home.  But  my  head  was  so  full  of  the  wonderful 
news  that  I  could  not  keep  it  any  longer." 

"  And  is  it  true  ?  "  asked  Madeleine,  imploringly.  "  Is  there 
no  mistake  ? — O  Gordon,  there  must  be  some  mistake." 

Gordon  laughed.  Evidently  to  him  Mary's  last  will  and  tes- 
tament appeared  altogether  good.  "  There  is  no  room  for  mis- 
take where  legal  documents  are  concerned,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
not  present,  of  course,  at  the  reading  of  the  will,  but  Basil  was, 
and  I  have  heard  all  about  it  from  him — as  well  as  from  half  a 
dozen  others.  There  are  one  or  two  minor  legacies  of  no  great 
amount^-that  to  Jessie  Holme  is  largest — but  t/oic  are  the  resid- 
uary legatee  of  mills,  houses,  lands,  stocks,  in  short,  every  thing." 

"  But  Mr.  Devereux  ?  "  said  Madeleine,  who  was  thoroughly 
bewildered.  Lacy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Devereux's  name 
is  not  even  mentioned.  This  puzzles  people  amazingly.  Was 
there  any  thing  like  a  quarrel  between  Miss  Carlisle  and  himself 
at  the  last  ?  " 

"  Plow  can  you  ask  me  such  a  question  ! "  said  Madeleine, 
and  what  with  amazement,  be^vilderment,  grief,  and  indigna- 
tion, she  burst  into  tears. 


AX    UNEXPECTED   IXHERITAXCE.  381 

It  was  now  Lacy's  txirn  to  be  surprised  and  concerned.  He 
had  never  known  Madeleine  so  much  like  "  other  women  "  be- 
fore. Deciding  that  these  tears  were  half  hysterical  and  half 
over-wrought  weariness,  he  proposed  at  once  to  take  her  home. 
"Night  is  falling,"  he  said.  "Basil  and  Mrs.  Severn  w411  be 
uneasy." 

So,  through  the  deejDenjng  winter  twilight  Madeleine  went, 
walkino'  as  in  a  dream  over  the  familiar  hills  and  dales.  She  never 
forgot  the  aspect  of  that  evening,  which  was  always  afterward 
connected  in  her  memory  with  the  news  that  was  to  work  such  a 
revolution  in  her  life.  The  closing  purple  dusk,  the  faint  after- 
glow still  lingering  in  the  west,  a  silver  star  shining  in  the  east, 
blue  smoke  rising  column-like  from  the  chimneys  of  houses  out 
of  sight,  every  detail  was  stamped  like  a  photograph  on  her 
mind.  She  never  saw  the  j^icture  afterward  without  recalling 
the  chaos  of  emotions  that  seemed  to  possess  her  that  evening. 
Lacy  talked,  but  she  scarcely  heeded  him,  and  answered  in 
monosyllables  when  she  answered  at  all.  The  whole  story 
seemed  to  her  unreal  and  impossible.  She  longed  for  Basil  to 
tell  her  what  had  really  occurred  and  what  she  must  do. 

When  she  reached  home,  Basil  w^as  there,  looking  pale  and 
grave,  but  besides  there  were  Rosalind  and  Champion,  and  i\Irs. 
Severn  in  a  tumult  of  joy.  To  this  circle  Lacy  introduced  her, 
while  Lance,  pushing  his  way  in  unobserved,  sat  down  gravely 
and  regarded  the  company. 

The  company  met  the  heroine  of  the  hour  with  a  burst  of 
congratulation.  Mrs.  Severn  embraced,  Rosalind  kissed,  Cham- 
pion shook  hands  with  her.  She,  on  her  part,  sat  down  on  the 
first  convenient  chair  and  looked  at  Basil,  asking,  "  Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  true ! "  said  Rosalind,  before  he  could  an- 
swer. "  Didn't  James  make  the  will,  and  know  all  along  liow^  it 
w^as,  and  yet  he  never  said  one  word  to  me  until  after  it  was 
read  to-day  !  And  now  you  are  a  lady  of  fortune  ! — oh,  such  a 
fortune,  Madeleine  ! — and  the  Severn  star  has  risen  at  last 
again  !     It  does  not  concern  me,  you  know — at  least  not  very 

much-  -but  I  am  so  glad  I  scarcely  know  what  to  do." 

IT 


382  A   QUESTION   OF  IIONOE.  "    " 

"  You  made  the  will,"  said  Madeleine,  looking  at  Champion 
and  at  last  beginning  to  imderstand  the  situation  a  little. 
"  How  could  you — oh,  how  could  3'ou  let  Mary  be  so  foolish  ! " 

"  She  was  determined  on  it,"  he  answered.  "  I  tell  you 
frankl}'  that  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  remonstrate — knowing  that 
she  had  relations  much  nearer  than  yourself,  who  expected  at 
least  a  part  of  the  inheritance — but  she  stopped  me  at  once. 
She  said  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  her  property 
in  this  way  and  in  no  other.  After  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  draw  up  the  document  in  legal  form." 

"  And  Mr.  Devereux  is  not  remembered  ?  " 

"  Not  even  mentioned.  She  told  me  that  this  was  by  his 
special  desire.  '  He  has  made  me  promise  not  to  leave  him  any 
thing,'  she  said.  So  I  suppose  I  must  acknowledge  " — this  to 
Basil — "  that,  in  common  wuth  a  great  many  other  people,  I 
have  done  him  great  injustice." 

"  I  have  felt  sure  of  that  for  some  time,"  said  Basil.  Then 
he  walked  over  to  Madeleine.  "  Did  Marj'  give  any  hint  to  you 
of  this  intention  ?  "  he  asked. 

"None,"  she  answ^ered.  "  Can  you  think  I  would  have  al- 
lowed such  a  thing  if  she  had  ?  I  cannot  imagine  what  it 
means,  I  cannot  imagine  why,  if  she  wanted  to  leave  the  fortune 
to  one  of  us,  she  did  not  leave  it  to  you." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  said,"  remarked  Mrs.  Severn.  "  Yv^hy 
isn't  it  Basil  ?  It  always  seems  more  natural  for  a  man  than  for 
a  woman  to  hold  property,  particularly  such  a  property  as  this. 
But  Mary  was  always  very  much  attached  to  you,  Madeleine — 
very  much." 

"  She  was  very  much  attached  to  Basil  also,"  said  Made- 
leine, with  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Thank  God,  she  did  not  leave  the  property  to  me  !  "  said  Ba- 
sil, quickly.  "  It  is  a  possibility  that  I  do  not  for  a  moment  like 
to  consider.  Such  a  fear  never  occurred  to  me.  I  thought  that 
she  would  probably  leave  the  mills  to  Devereux,  and  the  rest  of 
her  fortune  to  some  of  the  Carlisles." 

"  Mary   nevef    liked   her   father's   family,"    said    Rosalind. 


AX  UXEXPECTED   IXHERITANCE.  383 

"  Everybody  knows  that.  Nobody  could  blame  her  for  it,  either 
— they  are  such  disagreeable  people  !  Henry  and  Thomas  Car- 
lisle— her  first  cousins — were  both  here,  and  James  says  they 
were  50  angry !  They  even  talked  of  undue  influence  and  of 
disputing  the  will.     What  was  it  you  said  to  them,  James  ?  " 

"  I  told  them  (in  substance)  that  they  were  preposterous 
fools,"  replied  James.  " '  You  are  very  much  disappointed  now, 
gentlemen,'  I  said,  '  and  that  will  excuse  your  language.  "WTien 
you  come  to  your  senses,  you  will  realize  the  absurdity  you  are 
talking.  You  may  have  the  will  carried  into  any  court  of  law, 
and  you  will  find  that  it  will  stand — at  my  client's  request  I  took 
care  of  that.  The  rest  is  sheer  nonsense.'  They  blustered,  of 
course,  but  that  was  the  end  of  the  matter." 

"  And,  oh,  don't  vou  know  that  Mrs.  InoTam  is  furious  !  "  said 

/  7  */  CD 

Rosalind. — "  JToic  I  always  detested  that  old  woman,  and  how 
she  detested  you,  Madeleine  !  I  am  sure  she  could  bear  it  bet- 
ter if  the  property  had  been  left  to  Mr.  Devereux." 

"Madeleine  looks  pale,"  said  Mrs.  Severn,  at  that  moment 
struck  by  her  step-daughter's  face.  "  I  am  afraid  all  this  ex- 
citement is  too  much  for  her." 

"  I  am  a  little  unstrung,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  cannot  realize 
that  it  is  all  really  true.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  waiting  for  a  further 
revelation  of  what  Marv  meant." 

"I  call  such  a  feelino-  foolish  and  wrons:,"  said  Rosalind,  who, 
being  now  married,  felt  that  from  her  height  of  position  and  ex- 
perience she  was  capable  of  enlightening  on  many  points  the 
unmarried  mind.  "  It  sounds  like  spiritualism.  What  further 
revelation  can  Mary  make  ?  " 

"  Madeleine  is  not  exactly  herself  this  evening,"  said  Lacy, 
whose  hand  was  on  the  back  of  her  chair.  "  She  is  ao-itated  and 
weary,  depressed  and  yet  excited  ;  if  we  all  went  awa}^  and  left 
her  to  rest,  it  might  be  better.  I  am  sure  she  will  look  at 
things  very  difi'erently  to-morrow." 

There  was  real  consideration  in  this  suggestion,  though  Ro- 
salind resented  Lacy's  making  it.  "  He  is  very  ready  to  speak 
for  Madeleine  7iotc/"  she  said  to  her  husband,  after  they  had 


384  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

taken  their  departure.  To  herself  she  said :  "  Helen  has  lost 
him.  Her  fortune  is  nothing  at  all  compared  to  the  great  Car- 
lisle estate."  It  must  be  added  that  Rosalind  siglied  a  little  as 
she  riiade  this  reflection,  not  on  account  of  Miss  Champion's 
loss  of  Gordon  Lacy,  but  because  some  tempting  spirit  whis- 
pered to  her  that,  if  she  had  only  waited,  a  much  more  brilliant 
future  might  have  been  in  store  for  her  than  was  possible  to 
James  Champion's  wife.  She  knew  that  Madeleine  was  at  all 
times  the  very  soul  of  generosity,  and  a  dazzling  picture  rose 
before  her.  "  AYe  would  have  gone  everywhere,"  she  thought, 
"  and  there  is  no  telling  who  I  might  not  have  ended  by  marry- 
ing !  "  But,  to  do  justice  to  Rosalind's  good  sense,  she  did  not 
render  herself  uncomfortable  with  these  reflections  very  long. 
What  was  done  was  done.  She  had  acted  for  the  best  accord- 
ing to  her  lights,  "  since  nothing  short  of  the  gift  of  j^rophecy 
could  have  enabled  me  to  foresee  such  an  astounding  turn  of 
affairs,"  she  added.     This  led  her  to  say  aloud  : 

"  It  seems  impossible  that  Madeleine  can  really  be  so  rich  ! 
What  will  she  do  with  all  her  w^ealth,  I  wonder  ?  It  is  a  pity 
for  the  w4iole  of  it  to  go  to  Gordon  Lacy,  who  never  has 
done,  and  never  will  do,  any  thing  but  amuse  himself  writing 
poetry." 

"  Her  engagement  is  certainly  unfortunate,"  said  Champion. 
"  I  never  had  much  opinion  of  Lacy — but  Madeleine  is  too  loyal 
to  withdraw  from  it  now.  Her  wealth  will  make  a  great  differ- 
ence to  Basil,  however.  He  has  only  to  purchase  the  mills — ■ 
taking  his  time,  of  course,  for  payment — and  his  future  is  as- 
sured. With  his  business  talents  and  enero;v,  he  will  be  one  of 
the  richest  men  in  the  country." 

He  repeated  this  opinion  after  he  reached  home,  and,  though 
Helen  preserved  an  appearance  of  indifference,  she  both  heard 
and  heeded.  After  she  went  to  her  chamber  that  nio-ht,  she  sat 
in  her  dressing-robe  before  the  fire,  meditating  deeply.  She  had 
lost  Lacy.  That  fact  was  as  clear  to  her  as  to  Rosalind.  "  He'll 
never  give  up  Madeleine  for  me  now,"  she  decided.  Then  she 
thought  of  Basil  with  more  favor  than  she  had  ever  done  before. 


AN  UNEXPECTED   IXEERITAXCE.  385 

This  was  not  strange,  since  IMiss  Champion  was  a  young  lady 
altogether  of  her  day  and  generation,  and  Basil  had  now  the 
golden  halo  which  he  had  heretofore  lacked.  An  old  name,  a 
stainless  character,  and  the  prospect  of  being  "  one  of  the  richest 
men  in  the  country  " — she  appreciated  the  last  of  these  things, 
and  did  not  v;holly  ignore  the  first.  So,  it  came  to  pass  that  her 
decision  was  taken — she  would  draw  Basil  back  to  her  side  and 
marry  him.  Rosalind  was  right  when  she  said  that  the  star  of 
the  Severns  was  in  the  ascendant  once  more. 

Lacy,  meanwhile,  had  lingered  after  the  Champions  to  say  a 
few  words.  Mrs.  Severn  was  called  away,  Basil  left  the  room, 
and  he  was  alone  with  Madeleine.  Taking  her  hands,  he  looked 
into  her  pale  face,  her  wistful,  shadow-circled  e3'es. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said,  "you  will  be  better,  and  realize  more 
the  great  good  fortune  that  has  come  to  you.  My  darling,  my 
darling,  what  a  thing  it  is  ! — how  it  ends  all  fears  and  doubts 
of  the  future  !  How  it  will  lift  tou  into  a  realm  where  viil<rar 
cares  and  sordid  anxieties  need  never  enter  !  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Perhaps  it  is  because  I 
am  stunned  that  I  do  not  seem  to  feel  any  thing  clearly — except 
regret.  I  have  no  right  to  this  fortune.  I  wish,  oh,  I  wish  that 
Mary  had  not  left  it  to  me  ! " 

A  slight  shadow  came  over  Lacy's  face.  Even  at  this  mo- 
ment he  felt  that  she  ought  to  remember  hhn.  He  thought  that 
she  should  have  recollected  the  freedom  which  it  would  bestow 
upon  him.  His  was  not  in  the  least  what  is  commonly  called  a 
mercenary  nature.  Money  for  money's  sake,  nor  even  for  the 
sake  of  the  power  and  luxury  it  can  buy,  he  had  never  valued. 
But,  of  late,  it  had  been  borne  home  to  him  that,  to  mount  into 
that  high  region  of  aesthetic  refinement  where  he  longed  to 
abide,  monej'  was  absolutely  necessary.  Hence,  he  felt  that 
Providence  had  in  a  particular  manner  cared  for  him  now — and 
that  Madeleine  was  unsrateful  for  this  care. 

He  did  not  give  expression  to  these  sentiments,  but  they 
would  have  been  apparent  in  his  manner  if  Madeleine  had  be- 
stowed her  usual  attention  upon  him.     For  once  she  was  too 


386  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

much  engrossed  by  otlier  tlioughts  to  do  tliis,  so  be  went  away 
at  last  without  having  drawn  from  her  a  single  expression  of 
bapphiess  in  the  great  change  that  overshadowed  her. 

Then  the  brother  and  sister,  left  alone,  looked  at  each  other 
and  asked,  "  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  Their  sympathy  was  so 
perfect,  their  knowledge  of  each  other's  character  from  long  ex- 
perience so  exact,  that  they  had  no  need  to  compare  the  feelings 
which  this  unexpected  bequest  roused  in  them.  Each  knew 
what  the  other  thought,  and  so  they  simply  uttered  the  interro- 
gation recorded  above. 

It  was  an  interrogation  more  easily  asked  than  answered. 
The  secret  of  what  Mary  meant  might  reasonably  have  been 
supposed  to  have  gone  with  her  into  that  great  world  whither 
she  had  passed ;  but  Madeleine  repeated  again  what  she  had 
shocked  Rosalind  by  uttering  once.  "  I  cannot  accept  this  bare 
fact  as  it  stands ;  I  feel  as  if  there  must  be  some  further  revela- 
tion of  Mary's  wishes.  ^Ylien  she  was  dving,  she  spoke  to  me 
of  a  letter,  and  I  have  the  key  of  the  desk  in  which  it  is  to  be 
found.  To-morrow  I  will  go  to  the  Lodge  for  it.  Until  then 
we  must  wait." 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  the  current  of  life  claimed  those 
who,  only  for  a  moment,  as  it  w^ere,  had  paused  by  the  side  of  a 
grave  where  life's  interests  had  ended  forever.  Perhaps  the 
only  person  neither  surprised  nor  concerned  by  the  will  was 
Devereux.  He  had  suspected  very  much  how  it  would  be,  and 
now  he  felt  that  the  freedom  of  which  he  once  spoke  to  Made- 
leine had  come  to  him — freedom  to  go  away  from  the  associa- 
tions of  his  life,  and  enter  on  a  new  career  alone.  That  all  the 
tenderness  he  had  ever  felt  for  Mary  was  revived  and  inten- 
sified by  her  death,  will  readily  be  believed  by  those  who  know 
what  power  death  has  to  rouse  such  emotions.  If  it  did  not 
Avaken  the  tide  of  remorseful  love  which  overwhelmed  the  cold 
lover  of  Daphles,  he  was  at  least  conscious,  in  a  measure,  of 
the  feeling  which  has  never  found  truer  or  tenderer  expression 
than  in  the  beautiful  lines  that  are  tlie  key-note  of  the  same 
poem : 


TUE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  DEAD.  337 

"  Love  and  be  loved  !  yet  know,  love's  holiest  deeps 
Few  sound  while  living  !  when  the  loved  one  sleeps 
That  last,  strange  sleep,  beneath  the  mournful  sod, 
Then  Memory  wakes,  like  some  remorseful  god, 
And  all  the  golden  past  we  scarce  did  prize. 
Subtly  revives,  with  light  of  tender  eyes." 


CHAPTER     II. 

THE    MESSAGE    OF   THE    DEAD. 

The  next  morning,  early  enough  to  avoid  both  Lacy  and  Rosa- 
lind, neither  of  whom  she  desired  to  see  just  then,  Madeleine  set 
out  for  the  Lodge.  What  an  effort  it  cost  her  to  resolve  to  go 
there,  it  is  hard  to  express.  Her  grief  was  still  so  fresh  and 
keen  that  it  was  like  returning  to  gaze  on  Mary's  dead  face  to 
enter  the  home  so  intimately  associated  with  her  presence.  The 
day  before  she  would  have  felt  that  nothing  could  induce  her  to 
go,  but  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours  it  had  become  a  necessity 
to  do  so,  and  Madeleine  was  not  one  to  shrink  from  a  necessity, 
even  though  it  lacerated  her  heart. 

This  necessity  cost  her  suffering  more  poignant  than  any 
which  she  had  endured  since  her  father  and  brother  were  borne 
home  from  the  fields  of  honor,  where  they  had  fallen.  She  trod 
the  familiar  road  leading  to  the  Lodge  with  a  mist  of  tears  over 
her  sight  and  choking  sobs  in  her  throat.  Death — the  death  of 
those  we  love — is  not  only  bitter  to  endure,  but  also  hard  to 
realize.  But  yesterday  they  were  here  by  our  side,  looking  into 
our  eyes,  and  now  they  are  so  far  away  that  not  even  imagination 
can  pierce  the  indefinite  regions  to  which  they  have  gone.  "We 
cry  to  them  and  they  do  not  answer,  we  stretch  out  our  hands 
and  they  do  not  heed.  Of  all  that  love  which  life  gave  us,  death 
only  leaves  us  the  power  to  pray.  When  the  heart  is  sick  with 
longing,  it  is  not  only  faith  but  Nature  w^hich  cries,  "  Eternal  rest 
give  unto  them,  O  Lord,  and  let  perpetual  light  shine  upon  them." 


388  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

When  Madeleine  entered  the  Lodge-gates  and  saw  the  closed 
blmds  of  the  familiar  windows,  her  resolution  almost  failed. 
"  How  can  I  ?  "  she  said,  half  aloud.  But  the  hesitation  did  not 
last  long.  She  girded  up  her  strength  and  went  forward,  avoid- 
ing the  front  entrance  of  the  house  and  passing  round  to  the 
house-keeper's  room  where  Jessie  was  usually  to  be  found. 

She  was  there  now,  sitting  in  that  idleness  of  grief  which, 
with  the  usually  hard-working  is  so  full  of  pathetic  meaning,  be- 
fore the  fire,  a  ray  of  yellow  sunlight  streaming  across  her  black 
dress.  Mary  had  been  right.  On  her  the  blow  fell  most  heavily. 
Devereiix  and  Madeleine  had  other  interests  awaiting  them, 
other  claims  already  engrossing  them,  but  for  her  the  occupation 
of  life  had  come  to  an  end.  What  had  she  ever  been  save  Mary 
Carlisle's  faithful  friend  and  servant,  and,  now  that  Mary  was 
gone  where  human  faith  and  service  were  no  longer  needed,  what 
remained  for  her  ?  She  had  been  asking  herself  this  question, 
perhaps,  for  her  eyes  were  heavy  with  weeping,  when  looking  up 
she  saw  Madeleine  standing  in  the  door. 

An  expression  of  something  like  relief  camiO  over  her  face. 
She  rose  instantly.  "  I'm  thankful  to  see  you.  Miss  Madeleine," 
she  said.  "  I  couldn't  say  that  to  anybody  else,  but  I  was  just 
thinking  that  it  might  ease  my  heart  a  bit  if  I  could  talk  to  you 
who  was  alwaj's  with  my  dearie,  and  loved  her  a'most  as  well 
as  I  did."  * 

"  My  i^oor  Jessie,"  said  Madeleine,  coming  forward,  "  I  have 
thought  of  you  a  great  deal.  How  sad  and  lonely  you  must  be  ! 
Don't  you  think  it  might  be  better  if  you  came  into  Stansbury 
and  staid  with  us  for  a  while  ?  " 

"  What  would  I  do  there  ?  "  asked  Jessie.  "  It's  true  I've 
nothing  to  do  here — and  that's  the  hardest  thing  to  bear — but 
it  would  be  worse  anywhere  else.  Here's  the  only  home  I've 
ever  had,  and,  please  God,  I  sha'n't  leave  it  till  I'm  forced  to  go 
for  good." 

"  I  hope  that  may  never  be,"  said  Madeleine,  as  she  sat  down 
by  the  fire. 

"  It's  for  you  to  say,"  replied  Jessie.     "  They  tell  me  every 


THE   MESSAGE   OF  THE  DEAD.  389 

thinf^  belongs  to  jou  now.  If  it  belonged  to  anybody  else  it's 
not  me  would  stay  an  hour  under  tlie  roof;  but  if  you  are  not 
the  first  in  kin,  you  are  the  first  in  love,  and  thafs  the  best  claim 
of  the  two  according  to  my  thinking.  AYhat's  our  mortal  bodies  ? 
Don't  they  die,  and  aren't  they  put  in  the  ground  to  moulder 
away  ?  But  our  hearts  don't  die,  and  those  that's  nearest  to 
them  are  the  closest  kin  in  my  opinion." 

"You  are  partly  right,"  said  Madeleine,  who  knew  that  Jes- 
sie's ties  were  altogether  of  the  heart,  "  but  it  is  possible  to 
carry  such  an  opinion  too  far — with  regard  to  propertj^,  for  in- 
stance. Dearly  as  I  loved  Mary,  I  was  very  distantly  related  to 
her.     I  cannot  feel  that  I  have  any  right  to  what  she  has  left  me." 

"  Miss  Mary  knew  best,"  said  Jessie,  almost  defiantly.  "  It 
was  hers,  and,  if  she  wanted  you  to  have  it,  that's  enough." 

Madeleine  shook  her  head,  but  she  had  no  intention  of  argu- 
ing the  point,  and  after  a  few  more  words  she  rose.  "  I  will  be 
back  presently,"  she  said.     "  Now  I  must  go — to  Mary's  room." 

"  It'll  break  your  heart,"  said  Jessie.  *'  I  can't  keep  out  of  it 
by  night  or  by  day,  but  it  a'most  breaks  mine." 

''  I  dread  it,"  said  Madeleine,  "  but  I  must  go.  Don't  en- 
courage me  in  my  weakness." 

She  turned  as  she  spoke,  and  was  leaving  the  room,  when,  to 
her  surprise,  Jessie  followed  and  laid  her  hand  on  her  arm. 
*'  You'll  mind  one  thing.  Miss  Madeleine,"  she  said,  eagerly ; 
"  the  last  wishes  of  the  dead  is  binding  on  the  living." 

"  Sometimes,"  answered  Madeleine,  astonished,  yet  with  a 
flash  of  intuition  connecting  this  warning  with  the  letter  w^hich 
awaited  her.  Then  decidedly  but  gently  she  put  Jessie  aside. 
"  I  must  judge,"  she  said,  "  what  is  binding."  With  these  words 
she  passed  across  the  hall  and  ascended  the  staircase. 

Who  can  measure  the  power  of  familiar  objects  to  stab  us 
to  the  heart  when  the  Angel  of  Death  has  passed  over  the 
threshold  ?  We  never  guess  until  such  an  hour  what  links  of 
association  are  twined  around  the  most  ordinary  things.  We 
feel  like  storing  away,  as  sacred  relics,  articles  which  yesterday 
had  no  value  in  our  eyes;  we  enter  as  if  it  were  a  sanctuary  that 


390  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

wliicli  so  short  a  time  ago  was  only  a  common  chamber  in  our 
sight ! 

So  Madeleine  felt  now.  The  room  where  Mary  had  lived, 
suffered,  and  died,  was  so  eloquent  of  her  presence,  that  it 
seemed  impossible  that  presence  could  have  passed  away  for- 
ever. All  was  in  order,  yet  all  terribly  significant  of  what  had 
been.  She  was  met  not  by  one,  but  by  a  hundred  ghosts 
— ghosts  of  dead  hours,  of  tender  smiles,  of  words  that  still 
seemed  lingering  on  the  air.  The  couch  on  which  Mary  had 
been  Ij'ing  when  she  likened  her  to  Elaine  was  still  standing  by 
the  w^indow,  through  the  partially-closed  blinds  of  which  the 
morning  sunlight  streamed.  Though  the  sash  was  down,  the 
sweet  notes  of  the  birds  outside  came  in,  full  of  the  si^irit  of 
happiness. 

It  was  some  time  before  Madeleine  could  control  herseli 
sufficiently  to  open  the  desk  which  stood  on  a  table  in  a  recess. 
At  last  with  the  key  which  hung  at  her  watch-chain — the  key 
which  she  had  taken  from  Mary's  neck — she  unlocked  and  lifted 
back  the  scroll-like  top.  The  first  thing  which  she  saw  was  a 
packet  of  Devereux's  letters,  tied  with  a  ribbon,  and  laid  care- 
fully aside.  The  next  was  the  letter  to  herself,  directed  in  Jes- 
sie's writing. 

This  she  took,  closed  and  locked  the  desk  again,  and,  going  to 
one  of  the  windows,  which  she  opened  in  order  to  admit  a  little 
sunshine  to  dispel  the  chill  air  of  the  room,  sat  down  to  read  the 
last  message  of  the  dead.    It  began  as  if  Mary  had  been  speaking : 

"  I  have  made  my  will,  dear  Madeleine,  and  left  3-ou  all  that 
is  mine  to  leave.  It  is  a  burden  which  would  long  since  have 
proved  too  heavy  for  my  strength  if  Basil  had  not  lifted  it  from 
me,  and  I  owe  you  an  explanation  of  why  I  have  shifted  it  to 
you,  who  do  not  want  it,  I  am  sure.  If  what  I  have  to  say 
pains  you  in  any  manner,  forgive  me  !  I  would  be  silent  if  I 
could,  but  it  is  impossible.  You  must  know  the  truth,  and  I 
only  pray  you  to  believe  that,  in  speaking  it,  there  is  not  a  single 
reproachful  feeling  in  my  breast.     What  has  happened  is  not 


THE   MESSAGE   OF   THE   DEAD.  391 

yoiir  fault — is  not  anybody's  fault.  Remember  that,  in  dying,  I 
tell  you  once  more,  that  you  have  been  the  comfort  and  light 
of  my  life,  and  that  I  love  you  and  trust  3'ou  implicitly. 

"  You  must  understand  that  I  should  have  left  my  fortune  to 
Arnold  Devereux,  if  he  would  have  accepted  it.  But  he  antici- 
pated my  intention  as  soon  as  I  spoke  of  a  lawyer,  and  desired 
me  so  earnestly  to  leave  him  nothing,  that  I  could  not  disregard 
his  request.  But  I  feel — I  have  felt  ever  since  the  suit  was  de- 
cided ao-ainst  him — that  it  is  his  bv  rio-ht ;  and  he  must  have  it. 
You  see,  therefore,  that  it  is  more  a  trust  than  an  inheritance 
which  I  have  left  you.     And  now  I  will  tell  you  why. 

"  I  have  left  it  to  you  instead  of  to  him,  because  he  loves 
you,  and  because  I  hope  that  you  will  love  him  when  his  honor 
is  no  longer  bound  to  me.  I  need  not  tell  you  all  the  reasons 
wh}^  I  know  the  first  and  hope  the  last.  I  know  that  you  have 
both  been  every  thing  that  was  true  and  honorable.  I  never 
doubted  that  for  a  moment — never  !  The  fortune  is  yours  until 
you  marry  Arnold  ;  but,  I  beg  you,  as  the  last  favor  I  shall  ever 
ask,  to  do  so  speedily,  and  then  show  him  this  letter,  that  he 
may  understand  how  my  desire  has  been  to  secure  to  him  that 
which  is  justly  his.  He  has  been  very  kind  and  good  to  me 
from  first  to  last,  and  I  am  not  unreasonable  enough  to  blame 
him  that  he  did  not  love  me  as  he  loves  you.  It  was  foolish  of 
me  to  fancy  that  any  one  ever  could  love  m.e  in  that  manner. 
Yet  I  am  not  sorry  to  have  fancied  it.  It  made  me  very  happy, 
and  I  do  not  think  it  has  done  much  harm  to  any  one  else. 

"  Dear  Madeleine,  I  can  scarcely  bear  to  write  all  this.  I 
know  it  will  pain  you,  and  I  fear  you  may  think  that  I  mean  to 
reiDroach  you.  Do  not  believe  such  a  thing  for  a  moment.  You 
are,  and  always  have  been,  the  gentlest,  truest,  best  of  friends. 
I  have  blessed  you  often  in  my  heart,  and  I  bless  you  once 
again  for  all  your  unselfish  tenderness  to  me  in  the  past  and 
present. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  done  wrong.  If  I  have,  you  must  pardon 
me,  and  think  that,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  had  to  rely  alto- 
gether on  my  own  judgment.     If  it  has  misled  me,  remember 


302  A   QUESTION   OF   UONOR. 

that  I  meant  to  act  for  the  best.     God  bless  3'ou  and  make  you 

happy.     That  is  the  prayer  of 

"  Maby." 

The  amazement  which  Madeleine  felt,  when  the  letter  dropped 
from  her  hand  to  her  lap,  was  so  great  that  it  literally  over- 
whelmed every  other  feeling.  \Yhat  madness  had  possessed 
Mary  ?  This  was  the  first  thought  which  occurred  to  her — the 
first  definite  expression  of  her  astonishment.  She  said  to  her- 
self that  nothing  could  possibly  have  astonished  her  more  than 
this  revelation  of  what  had  been  in  Mary's  mind.  How  had 
such  a  thino;  been  su2:2:ested  to  her  ?     What  did  it  mean  ? 

She  looked  round  the  room  with  a  sense  of  hopeless  appeal 
against  the  judgment  which  had  thus  wronged  her.  "  O  Mary, 
how  could  you  ! — how  could  you ! "  she  exclaimed  aloud.  "  Why 
did  you  not  speak  to  me  ?  Why  did  you  go  away  with  this 
shadow  of  cruel  misconception  over  our  faithful  love  ?  Oh,  my 
dear,  can  you  hear  me  say  that  you  were  wrong  ?  What  de- 
lirium possessed  you  to  dream  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

Alas,  vain  words  !  The  silence  which  Death  had  made  was 
never  to  be  broken  :  the  work  on  which  Death  had  set  his  seal 
remained,  with  all  its  train  of  consequences  yet  to  come.  IMade- 
leine  felt  as  if  her  brain  was  whirling.  She  tried  to  go  back  and 
remember  what  had  possibly  occurred  that  could  have  left  such 
an  impression  as  this  on  Mary's  mind.  The  effort  was  quite 
useless.  She  could  remember  nothing.  "  Finally,  with  a  de- 
spairing impulse,  she  took  the  letter  and  went  down  again  to 
Jessie.  The  thought  which  suggested  itself  to  her  was  that 
perhaps  Jessie,  who  had  written  these  words,  might  be  able  to 
throw  some  light  on  them. 

Jessie  heard  the  approaching  step,  and  her  face  set  itself  in 
certain  resolute  lines  that  meant  a  great  deal — lines  that  Made- 
leine understood  as  soon  as  she  entered.  Nevertheless,  she  ad- 
vanced with  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Jessie,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  you  wrote  this.  For  Heaven's 
sake  tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  it  means  !     What  induced  IMary 


THE   MESSAGE   OF  THE   DEAD.  393 

to  think  such  a  thing',  and  why  did  not  jou  warn  me  what  she 
had  done  ?  " 

"  Take  it  away,  ]\riss  Madeleine  ! "  said  Jessie,  waving  the 
letter  back.  "  I  don't  want  to  see  it,  and  I  promised  never  to 
speak  of  it  to  a  living  soul  so  long  as  I  lived.  I  wrote  down 
just  what  she  told  me — word  for  word  as  it  came  from  her 
mouth — and  that's  all  I  know  about  it." 

"  But  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  speak  of  it  to 
me — to  whom  the  letter  is  addressed,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Jessie, 
if  you  know — " 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  at  all  but  what  ]\Iiss  Mary  told 
me,"  said  Jessie,  "  and  I've  nearly  forgot  that.  Do  you  reckon 
I  was  thinking  of  any  thing  but  her  then  ?" 

"  What  did  she  tell  you  ?  "  asked  Madeleine.  "  Oh,  if  she 
had  only  spoken  to  me  !  If  she  had  only  given  me  one  oppor- 
tunity to  assure  her  that  she  was  wrong  ! " 

"  She  told  me  what's  there,"  said  Jessie,  pointing  to  the 
letter — "  nothing  more.  I  was  not  troubling  my  head  about 
any  thing  but  her,  and  she  was  weak  and  faint  enough.  Twice 
I  had  to  stop  and  give  her  medicine." 

"  x\nd  you  cannot  help  me  !  "  said  Madeleine.  "  You  can 
give  me  no  clew  to  the  cause  of  this  letter ! — no  idea  what  made 
Mary  suspect  a  treachery  which  never  existed  ! " 

Jessie  hesitated.  Evidently  she  had  something  to  tell,  yet 
she  could  with  diiBculty  conquer  her  reluctance  to  speak  of  the 
subject  of  the  letter  even  to  the  person  to  whom  it  was  ad- 
dressed. After  a  moment,  however,  she  said  :  "If  3'ou  are  talk- 
ing about  Miss  Mary's  believing  that  there  was  something  be- 
tween you  and  Mr.  Devereux,  I  can  give  a  guess  as  to  who  put 
such  a  notion  into  her  head." 

"  Who  ?  "  demanded  Madeleine,  breathlessly. 

"  Why,  who  should  it  be  but  that  old  cat — the  Lord  forgive 
me  ! — Mrs.  Ingram  ?  She's  always  peering  and  prying  into 
what  don't  concern  her,  and  it  was  the  very  morning  of  the  ball 
that  I  was  in  Miss  Mary's  dressing-room  looking  over  some  of 
her  things,  when  I  heard  Mrs.  Ingram  talking  in  the  next  room. 


394  A  QUESTIOX  OF  HONCK 

I  tbouglit  it  was  queer  for  her  to  be  there,  but  I  didn't  pay  any 
attention  to  what  she  was  saying* — though  her  voice  kept  get- 
ting louder — until  at  last  I  heard  Miss  Mary  saj- — and  her  voice 
was  like  a  flute,  it  was  so  clear — that  it  was  base  and  cruel  to 
bring  such  a  storj?-  to  her,  who  was  blind  and  could  not  see  for 
herself,  but  that  she  did  not  believe  one  word  of  it.  She  said 
she  would  trust  her  life,  and  her  love,  and  her  honor  to  you, 
and  that  she  had  trusted  them  to  Mr.  Devereux.  Then  she  told 
Mrs.  Ingram  to  go — she  had  heard  enough.  '  If  you  ever  read 
your  Bible,'  she  said,  *  I  wonder  you  don't  remember  that  if 
the  peace-makers  are  blessed,  those  that  destroy  peace  must  be 
cursed.'  After  that  Mrs.  Ingram  said  something  about  not 
staying  to  hear  herself  cursed,  and  banged  the  door  as  she  went 
out.  I  didn't  think  much  about  it  at  the  time,  but  now  I  know 
she  must  have  been  warning  Miss  Mary  about  you  and  Mr. 
Devereux." 

"  O  Mary,  my  generous,  noble  Mary ! "  said  Madeleine,  while 
a  shower  of  tears  fell  from  her  eyes  over  the  letter  in  her  hand. 
At  that  moment  she  scarcely  felt  a  throb  of  indignation  against 
Mrs.  IngTam — it  was  of  Mary  only  that  she  thought,  Mary  who 
had  proved  so  tender  and  so  loyal.  "  Oh,  if  I  had  only  known  ! 
— if  I  had  only  known  !  "  she  cried. 

"  It  don't  matter  now,"  said  Jessie,  w^iping  her  eyes.  "  She 
never  believed  any  harm  of  you — that  I  know — and  she's  gone 
where  sorroAV  and  doubt  and  trouble  are  at  an  end.  I  begin  to 
understand  what  the  bible  means  when  it  saj^s  that,  where  your 
treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also.  My  treasure  is  in 
heaven  now,  and,  please  God,  I  mean  to  be  a  better  woman,  to 
meet  her  there.  All  I  care  about  is,  to  end  my  days  here  in  this 
house ;  and  3"ou  know  me  well  enough.  Miss  Madeleine,  to  be 
sure  I'll  serve  3'ou  faithfully." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  never  serve  any  one  otherwise  than 
faithfully,"  said  Madeleine,  "  but  you  are  mistaken  if  you  think 
the  house  is  mine.  How^  the  matter  will  be  settled,  I  cannot 
tell;  but  this  letter  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  accept  Mary's 
bequest.    I  am  going  to  Basil  now,  and  I  know  what  he  will  say." 


THE   BEGINXING   OF   TEE   END.  395 

"  Y^ou  won't  give  it  up — O  Miss  Madeleine,  you  won't  give  it 
ap !  "  saivi  Jessie,  imploringl3\  "  It  was  Miss  Mary's  last  wish 
that  yon  should  have  it." 

"  It  was  her  wish  that  I  should  have  it  in  a  way  that  is  ut- 
terly impossible,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  shall  be  sorry  if  it  makes 
any  change  for  you,  but  the  legacy  which  Mary  left  you — it  is 
five  thousand  dollars,  and  will  bring  an  income  of  four  hundred, 
Basil  says — is  secured  to  you." 

"  What  do  I  care  about  legacies  ?  "  said  Jessie.  "  All  I  want 
is  to  end  m}'-  days  here.  It's  the  only  home  I've  ever  known 
since  my  dear  mistress  saved  me  from  the  poor-house — and  I 
don't  want  to  know  any  other." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  give  you  any  absolute  assurance 
of  what  is  to  be,"  said  Madeleine,  rising.  "  There  is  trouble 
before  all  of  us,  I  fear ;  but  we  can  only  do  what  is  right,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  God." 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    BEGIXXIXG    OF   THE    EXD. 

While  Madeleine,  at  the  Lodge,  was  reading,  with  bewil- 
dered amazement,  the  record  of  Mary's  last  thoughts  and  wishes, 
an  unusual  visitor  came  in  Stansbury  to  pay  her  a  call  of  con- 
gratulation. This  visitor  was  Miss  Champion,  who,  without  in- 
forming any  one  of  her  intention,  set  forth  soon  after  breakfast, 
for  the  Severns'.  Meditation  with  her  bore  fruit.  If  she  was  to 
lose  Lacy,  she  would  run  no  risk  of  delay  in  securing  Basil. 
Failing  a  "  poet,"  the  future  owner  of  the  Carlisle  Mills  was  not 
to  be  despised. 

Fortune  favored  her.  Miss  Severn  was  not  at  home,  Ann  in- 
formed her,  and  Mrs.  Severn  was  very  much  engaged ;  but  if 
she  would  wait —  Yes,  Miss  Champion,  mindful  of  her  object, 
would  wait.    She  swept  across  the  hall,  and  was  ushered  into  the 


396  A   QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

sitting-room,  where  Basil — on  whom  idleness  weighed  heavily — 
was  reading  a  newspaper. 

He  rose  quickly.  Was  this  a  goddess  ayIio  entered,  in  flow- 
in  o-  robes  of  rustlinoj"  black  silk,  with  one  crimson  rose  at  her 
throat,  and  another  in  her  hat,  her  cheeks  glowing,  her  eyes 
shining  ?  The  young  man,  who  had  been  reading  with  a  very 
distracted  mind  the  political  intelligence  of  the  day,  was,  for  a 
moment,  dazzled.  Only  for  a  moment.  He  advanced  the  next 
instant,  courteously,  but  so  coldly  that  Miss  Champion  felt  that 
the  occasion  called  for  her  best  diplomacy. 

"  Pray  excuse  me  for  intruding  so  early,"  she  said,  extending 
both  hands  with  a  gesture  of  irresistible  cordiality,  "  but  I  could 
not  restrain  myself  any  longer.  I  felt  that  I  must  come  to  con- 
gratulate Madeleine  on  her  great  good  fortune." 

"  Madeleine  would  appreciate  your  kindness  if  she  were  at 
home,"  answered  Basil,  "  but  she  went  out  an  hour  or  two  ago. 
She  does  not,  however,  consider  the  bequest  to  which  I  sup- 
pose you  allude  in  the  light  of  a  very  great  good  fortune." 

"  Does  she  not  ?  "  said  Miss  Champion,  with  an  involuntary 
opening  of  the  eyes,  which  indicated  as  much  incredulity  as 
surprise.  "  Of  course,  I  know  that  she  was  greatly  attached 
to  Miss  Carlisle,  but  still — the  fortune  must  go  to  somebody  now 
that  she  is  dead,  and  it  is  a  great  deal  better  for  it  to  go  to  Made- 
leine than  to  anybody  else." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Basil.  Then  he  moved  a  large 
arm-chair  near  the  fire.  "  Pray  sit  down,"  he  said,  thawing  a  lit- 
tle under  the  influence  of  the  sunshine  showered  so  warmly  upon 
him.     "  My  mother  will  be  in  presently." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Helen,  graciously.  She  sank  into  the  chair, 
and  glanced  up  at  him  with  the  pleasant  consciousness  of  look- 
ing her  (daylight)  best.  "  How  strange  and  sad  it  seems  to  re- 
member all  that  has  happened  since  we  met  last ! "  she  added, 
after  a  moment,  drooping  her  lids.  "  Only  think  of  the  ball,  and 
poor  Miss  Carlisle !  You  can't  tell  how  much  I  have  felt  for 
Madeleine  and — yourself !  " 

Over  the  last  word  her  voice  dropped  to  a  lower  and  tenderer 


THE   BEGIXNING   OF   THE   END.  397 

key,  and  Basil's  heart  thrilled ;  but  he  was  firmly  resolved  against 
being  made  "  a  fool  of"  any  longer,  and,  moreover,  he  had  learned 
to  distrust  the  speaker.  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  even  Circe's 
spells  would  lose  their  power  after  a  time,  if  cast  again  and  yet 
again  over  the  same  subject. 

"Thank  you  for  your  sympathj^,"  he  said,  quietly.  "Mary's 
death  has  been  a  great  grief  both  to  Madeleine  and  myself — one 
of  which  I  do  not  yet  like  to  speak." 

"  I  think  painful  subjects  are  best  avoided,"  said  Miss  Cham- 
pion, in  a  tone  which  indicated  that  she  practised  her  own  phi- 
losoph}'-,  "but  I  could  not  help  letting  you  know  how  much  sym- 
pathy I  have  felt." 

Then  there  was  a  short  j)ause.  "  I  have  given  him  an  open- 
ing," thought  Helen,  "  why  don't  he  speak  ?  "  As  for  Basil,  he 
felt  as  clearly  as  she  could  possibly  have  desired,  that  he  had  but 
to  speak  to  obtain  a  more  definite  assurance  than  he  had  ever 
been  able  to  draw  from  this  slippery  young  lady,  A  month  be- 
fore, he  would  have  grasped  such  an  opportunity  eagerly,  but 
now  he  hesitated — why,  he  scarcely  knew.  It  was  not  that  he 
was  less  thralled  by  the  fair  face  turned  toward  him,  or  that  wis- 
dom had  overmastered  passion  in  his  breast.  It  was  simply  an 
instinct  that  kept  him  silent.  Perhaps  the  uncertainty  of  his 
circumstances  had,  unconsciously  to  himself,  something  to  do 
with  this.  He  was  on  the  eve  of  a  great  change — one  way  or 
another — in  his  affairs.  In  a  little  while  he  would  have  some 
positive  prospect  to  offer  the  woman  he  loved,  but  now  he  felt 
that  silence  best  became  him.  Helen  Champion  knew — had 
known  for  many  a  day,  on  the  best  possible  authority — that  his 
heart  was  hers.  Heretofore  she  had  treated  the  knowledge  very 
lightly.  He  did  not  like  to  consider  why  it  should  suddenly 
seem  of  more  value  in  her  eyes  now. 

These  reflections  did  not  last  very  long.  When  he  spoke,  it 
was  in  a  manner  which  irked  Helen  exceedingly.  "It  was  very 
kind  of  you  to  feel  for  us,"  he  said.  "  You  know  how  grateful 
I  must  be  for  any  of  your  thoughts — and  especially  for  such 
thoughts  as  these." 


398  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  care  for  them  very  miicli,"  said  she,  with 
tears  of  genuine  vexation  rising  in  her  eves.  "  You  never  come 
near  me  to — to  ask  if  I  think  of  you.  I  fear  you  have  not  forgiven 
my  foolish  conduct  the  night  of  the  ball.  Yet  you  ought  to  know 
by  this  time  how  capricious  and  frivolous  I  am — sometimes." 

"Pray  do  not  mention  it/'  said  Basil,  gently.  "I  have  not 
thought,  I  do  not  think,  any  thing  unkind  of  you.  Such  trifles 
as  those  to  which  you  allude  have  been  swept  from  my  mind  by 
all  that  has  occurred  since  that  night." 

This  was  not  so  consoling  as  it  should  have  been,  but  Miss 
Champion  made  the  best  of  it.  "  I  am  glad  you  are  not  vexed 
with  me,"  she  said.     "  I  have  been  fearing  that  you  were." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  with  eyes  shining  through  their  tears 
like  diamonds.  In  common  with  all  men  of  his  class,  Basil  was 
very  easily  affected  by  a  woman's  tears.  He  could  not  with- 
stand them  even  if  the  woman  who  shed  them  was  indifferent 
to  him,  and  this  woman,  with  all  her  faults,  he  loved  deeply. 

"  How  could  you  wrong  me  by  supposing  such  a  thing  ?  "  he 
said,  taking  her  hand.  "  I  was  pained,  I  own ;  but  vexed — with 
3^ou!  That  is  impossible.  Yet,  if  you  realized  your  power, 
Helen,  I  think  jou  would  use  it  more  generously." 

*'  Have  I  any  power  ?  "  asked  Helen,  naively.    *'  How  much  ?  " 

It  is  not  worth  while  to  follow  the  conversation  furrier  than 
this.  As  is  always  the  case  in  an  encounter  of  the  kind,  the  one 
who  was  the  most  in  earnest  fared  the  worst.  A  man  feeling 
less  deeply,  less  keenly  alive  to  what  may  be  called  the  chivalry 
of  sentiment,  would  not  have  been  drawn  on  so  easily ;  but  the 
frank  simplicity  of  Basil's  ch.aracter  fitted  him  very  little  for  such 
a  game. 

He  had  received  Miss  Champion's  pledge  of  faith — a  pledge 
given  freely,  and  it  may  be  added  with  perfect  sincerity — had 
escorted  her  home  and  returned  to  his  house,  when  Madeleine 
arrived  from  the  Lodge,  wdth  an  expression  on  her  face  which 
— before  she  uttered  a  word — told  him  that  she  had  learned 
somethino:. 

Notwithstanding  this  partial  preparation,  he  was  thunder- 


THE   BEGINNING   OF  THE   END.  399 

struck  when  Mary's  letter  was  placed  in  his  hands.     "  Was  she 
mad  ?  "  he  ejaculated,  looking  up  at  his  sister. 

"  No — not  mad,  but  deceived,"  Madeleine  answered.  "  Poor 
Mary !  Nothing  could  possibly  show  her  childlike  ignorance 
of  the  world  and  human  nature  more  plainly  than  that  letter. 
Of  course  she  was  wrong — all  wrong — in  the  idea  on  which  it  is 
based ;  but,  even  if  that  idea  had  been  right,  what  pathetic  want 
of  knowledge  her  manner  of  dealing  with  it  displays  ! " 

"But,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  possessed  her  to  enter- 
tain such  an  idea  ?  "  demanded  Basil.  "  To  suspect  you — of  all 
people ! " 

"  She  was  blind,"  said  Madeleine,  "  and  the  blind  are  easily 
rendered  suspicious.  Jessie  thinks  that  Mrs.  Ingram  is  the  per- 
son who  is  accountable  for  it.     I  do  not  know." 

"  If  she  had  only  consulted  any  one  !  "  said  Basil.  "  But  to 
act  like  this  solely  on  her  own  judgment — she  who  never  had 
any  means  of  forming  a  judgment — it  is  the  most  inconceivable 
thing!  And  what  is  to  be  the  result?  Since  the  supposition 
on  which  she  wrote  was  an  altogether  mistaken  one,  what  do 
you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean  to  do,"  she  answered.  "  I  mean 
to  make  the  property  over  to  Mr.  Devereux.  It  is  to  him  in  re- 
ality that  it  is  left,  and  Mary  says  what  I,  also,  believe — that 
part  at  least  of  it  is  rightfully  his." 

There  was  a  minute's  silence.  Then  Basil  said :  "  You  must 
consider  this  well.  You  must  not  act  hastily  and  afterward  re- 
gret what  you  have  done.  Remember  the  fortune  is  legally  and 
absolutely  yours,  and  it  secures  you — I  do  not  speak  of  any  one 
else — all  the  best  gifts  of  life.  If  you  put  it  away  on  a  mere 
impulse — " 

She  stopped  him  by  placing  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Answer 
me  one  thing,"  she  said.     "  In  my  place,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

Their  eyes  met — the  same  clear  light  burning  steadily  in 
both.  Each  knew,  though  neither  expressed  this  knowledge, 
what  the  sacrifice  would  cost,  yet  it  is  not  possible  to  say  that 
either  felt  for  a  moment  the  faintest  temptation  to  retain  that 


iOO  ■    A  QUESTION  OF  HOXOR. 

which  honor  bade  them  surrender.  The  merit  of  the  sacrifice 
would  have  been  greater  if  there  had  been  this  temptation  ;  but 
there  are  some  natures  to  whom  such  a  thing  is  impossible,  and 
both  Basil  and  Madeleine  belonged  to  that  class. 

"  In  3'our  place  I  would  giv^e  up  the  property,"  said  Basil. 
"  It  is  a  question  of  honor — not  of  law." 

"  I  knew  you  would  say  so,"  she  replied.  "  Now,  what  is 
the  first  step  to  be  taken  ?  " 

"  The  first  step  will  be  to  let  Devereux  know — and  here,  I 
am  sure,  you  will  encounter  a  difficulty.  If  he  would  not  accept 
the  fortune  from  Mary,  is  it  likely  he  will  accept  it  from  you?" 
'  "  I  fear  there  will  be  a  great  deal  of  difficulty,"  said  she,  "  but 
you  must  see  him  at  once,  and  you  must  make  him  understand 
that,  if  he  refuses  to  accept  it,  I  will  nevertheless  make  it  over 
to  him,  and  it  may  lie  untouched,  for  I  cannot  and  will  not  re- 
tain it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  him  any  thing  of  this  ?  "  asked  Basil, 
touching  the  letter. 

A  flush  rose  to  Madeleine's  cheek.  For  the  first  time,  the 
realization  came  to  her  of  the  singular  position  in  which  the  let- 
ter placed  her  with  regard  to  Devereux.  "  He  must  be  told 
something  of  it,"  she  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  but  not  all. 
Tell  him,  in  Mary's  own  words,  that  she  left  her  fortune  to  me 
'  as  a  trust,  not  as  an  inheritance : '  that  she  believed  it  to  be 
rightfully  his,  and  that  she  wished  him  to  have  it." 

Basil  shook  his  head — a  gesture  which  quite  as  often  ex- 
presses doubt  as  dissent.  "  It  will  look  very  mysterious,"  he 
said.  "  Devereux  will  naturally  ask  why,  if  she  wished  to  leave 
it  to  him,  she  did  not  do  so  in  a  legal  manner  ?  " 

"  Remind  him  of  the  promise  he  exacted  from  her  that  she 
would  not  do  so.  For  the  rest,  we  cannot  help  the  mystery.  It 
is  impossible  to  make  the  contents  of  that  letter  public." 

"  Quite  impossible,"  said  Basil,  glancing  again  at  the  letter 
in  his  hand.  "  One  thing  is  certain,"  he  added,  with  emphasis, 
"  I  should  like  to  cut  into  mince-meat  the  tongue  which  has  bee^^ 
at  the  root  of  this  mischief ! " 


THE   BEGINNING  OF  THE   END.  401 

"  That  would  not  remedy  it  now,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a 
sigh.  "  It  was  base  and  cruel,  but  we  must  deal  with  what  is  ; 
not  with  what  might  have  been." 

"  And  you  wish  me  to  see  Devereux  at  once  ?  " 

"  Yes.  There  is  no  reason  for  delaj^,  and  he  may  leave 
Stansbury." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Basil,  stretching  out  his  hand  for  his 
hat,  which  he  had  thrown  carelessly  on  a  table  near  by.  "  I 
confess  I  see  nothing  but  trouble  and  vexation  ahead,"  he  went 
on.  "  He  is  certain  to  make  difficulties,  if  not  to  refuse  the 
fortune  point-blank  ;  and  then  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  As  the  Spaniards  say — God  knows  !  "  answered  Made- 
leine. "  Let  him  do  what  he  will,  our  course  is  clear.  You 
were  right  when  you  called  it  a  question  of  honor.  Go,  then, 
dear  Basil,  and — will  you  stop  on  the  way  and  ask  Gordon  to 
come  to  me  ?  I  owe  it  to  him  to  let  him  hear  my  decision  first 
from  myself." 

Basil  assented,  but  as  he  left  the  room  a  shadow  fell  over 
his  face.  Madeleine's  allusion  to  Lacy  had  not  been  necessary 
to  remind  him  of  Helen  Champion.  He  had  not  distinctly  said 
to  himself  that  her  graciousness  that  morning  had  been  dic- 
tated by  the  changed  prospects  that  opened  to  him  through  the 
fortune  which  had  fallen  to  his  sister ;  but  he  was  quite  as  well 
aware  of  these  prospects  as  James  Champion,  and  he  had  felt 
instinctively  that  it  would  not  do  to  analyze  too  closely  the 
motives  which  prompted  Helen's  accession  of  regard.  In  a 
manner  not  unusual  with  men  of  his  order,  he  had  resigned  him- 
self to  a  half-sad  knowledge  of  the  imperfections  of  his  idol. 
He  had  told  himself  more  than  once  that,  as  he  had  been  fool- 
ish enough  to  set  his  heart  on  this  woman,  he  must  take  her  as 
8he  was,  not  hoping  that  she  would  ever  be  able  to  reign  as 
queen  in  the  high  places  of  his  soul.  Some  of  her  faults  he 
could  not  fail  to  see  ;  against  the  perception  of  others  he  closed 
his  eyes,  as  he  had  closed  them  this  morning — refusing  to  con- 
sider why  she  had  sought  him  out.  Half  unconsciously  he 
reasoned  that  she  must   3are  for  him  since  she  had  encoura2:ed 


402  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

him  to  believe  that  she  would  marry  him,  long  before  these  later 
events  occurred  ;  but  his  heart  misgave  him  when — as  he  went 
in  search  of  Devereux  —  he  thought,  "Now  will  come  the 
test ! " 

He  had  not  proceeded  more  than  half  a  square  before  he 
met  Lacy  ;  and  Madeleine  was  still  sitting  with  Mary's  letter  in 
her  hand,  when  she  heard  the  familiar  step  of  the  latter  on 
the  gravel-walk  leading  to  the  house. 

She  scarcely  understood  why  she  shrank  with  such  a  feeling 
of  dread  from  the  interview  before  her.  "  T  am  weak  and  fan- 
ciful," she  thought.  "  No  doubt  Gordon  will  agree  with  me. 
He  cannot  do  otherwise  ;  but  I  know  it  will  be  a  terrible  disap- 
pointment to  him,  and  it  seems  hard  that  I  should  be  obliged 
to  cause  it." 

There  was  certainly  no  anticipation  of  disappointment  visi- 
ble on  Gordon's  face  when  he  came  in.  The  world  to  him  this 
morning  was  flooded  with  sunshine.  He  felt  that  he  was  fully 
justified  by  circumstances  in  those  tw^o  apparently  foolish  acts 
of  his  life — his  devotion  to  literature  and  his  engagement  to 
Madeleine.  In  remembering  the  past,  he  conveniently  ignored 
all  his  doubts  and  hesitations,  and  appeared  in  his  own  recol- 
lection as  an  embodiment  of  loyal  constancy.  For  this  con- 
stancy he  now  had  his  reward  !  All  sordid  questions  of  ways 
and  means  were  now  at  an  end.  He  would  be  lifted  above  all 
need  of  degrading  his  genius  to  the  mere  uses  of  subsistence. 
.He  would  have  leisure  to  cultivate  art,  and  he  would  possess 
the  society  of  the  woman  who  was  his  chosen  companion  and 
best  inspirer. 

He  looked  like  "his  old  self,"  Madeleine  thought,  when  he 
entered — the  lover  who  had  come  to  woo,  not  the  one  who, 
since  that  wooing,  had  so  often  brought  his  gloom}'-  moods  to 
her — and  her  heart  smote  her  that  she  must  cast  a  cloud  over 
this  brightness.  As  he  reached  her  side,  his  first  words  were 
caressing : 

"  C/i^ne,"  he  said,  "  you  are  not  yourself  even  yet !  You 
look  pale  and  sad.     I  think,  if  you  went  out,  the  mild  day  would 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   THE   END.  403 

do  3'ou  good.     I  see  jou  have  your  liat  on.     Were  you  waiting 
for  me  to  walk  ?  " 

"  No,"  Madeleine  answered.  "  I  have  just  come  in  from  the 
Lodge." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Lacj^,  "  that  accounts  for  your  pale  looks,  then. 
You  should  not  have  gone  to  a  place  so  full  of  sad  associations 
for  some  time  yet ;  and  the  walk  was  too  long  for  you,  besides." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Madeleine,  "  I  scarcely  noticed  the  walk.  I 
was  thinking  of  other  things.  I  felt  that  I  must  go.  There 
were  reasons — Gordon,  I  have  something  very  important  to  tell 
vou." 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  said  Gordon,  indulgently.  He  sat  down 
near  her — in  the  chair  which  Miss  Champion  had  occupied  an 
hour  or  two  before — ^and  looked  at  her  with  eyes  full  of  sunny 
light.  "  You  are  tormenting  yourself  about  some  scruple,"  he 
said.  "  I  see  that  j)lainly.  It  is  my  turn  to  play  comforter 
now.     Let  me  hear  what  troubles  you." 

"  It  is  not  a  scruple,"  she  replied,  "  but  something  much 
more  grave.  Do  you  remember  last  night  when  I  said  that  I 
was  waiting  for  a  further  revelation  of  what  Mary  meant  by 
leaving  her  fortune  to  me  f     Well,  I  have  had  the  revelation." 

"  Madeleine  !  "  said  Lacy,  in  a  tone  of  surprise.  He  was 
thoroughly  astonished.  Was  this  spiritualism,  as  Rosalind  had 
said  ?  or  had  her  wonderful  good  fortune  turned  Madeleine's 
brain  ? 

"  When  Mary  was  dying,"  Madeleine  went  on  quickly — 
anxious  to  make  the  explanation  and  be  over  with  it — "  she 
told  me  to  take  from  her  neck  the  key  of  her  desk,  and  that  in 
it  I  should  find  a  letter  addressed  to  myself,  containing  her  last 
wishes.  I  took  the  key  after  her  death,  but  I  did  not  open  the 
desk — not  thinking  that  the  letter  could  be  of  any  immediate 
importance,  and  shrinking  from  the  pain  of  reading  it.  But 
last  night — as  soon  as  I  began  to  understand  the  strange  terms 
of  her  will — I  thought  of  the  letter  at  once,  and  that  was  what 
I  meant  when  I  spoke  of  a  further  revelation  of  her  wishes. 
This  morning  I  went  out  to  the  Lodge,  and — I  found  it." 


404  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  Found  what  ?  "  asked  Lacj.  He  still  spoke  with  indul- 
gent kindness,  sure  that  nothing  more  than  some  feminine  (prob-. 
ably  sentimental)  nonsense  was  behind  all  this  formidable  pre- 
amble. "  The  letter  do  you  mean  ?  I  hope  there  was  nothing 
terrible  in  it.  Last  wishes  are  usuallj^  very  uncomfortable  things. 
What  injunction  did  Miss  Carlisle's  letter  contain  ?  " 

"  It  contained  more  than  an  injunction,"  said  Madeleine. 
"  It  told  me  that  she  left  her  fortune  to  me  as  a  trust,  not  as  an 
inheritance," 

She  repeated  almost  mechanically  the  words  which  had 
graved  themselves  on  her  memory  as  expressing  concisely  the 
spirit  of  Mary's  letter.  They  w^ere  words  which — uttered  in 
her  firm  voice — had  to  Lacy  the  force  of  a  moral  blow.  As 
was  natural,  however,  he  failed  to  comprehend  their  full  signifi- 
cance. 

"A  trust !  "  he  repeated;  " not  an  inheritance !  What  is  the 
meaning  of  that  ?  "  • 

Madeleine  hesitated,  uncertain  whether  or  not  to  tell  him  all. 
She  had  put  Mary's  letter  in  her  pocket  when  she  heard  his  step. 
Now  her  hand  involuntarily  sought  it.  Should  she  show  it  to 
him,  or  should  she  not?  A  second's  reflection  made  her  decide 
in  the  negative.  How  could  she  show  to  the  man  to  whom  she 
was  engaged  a  letter,  full  of  the  evident  belief  that  she  loved, 
and  clearly  expressed  hope  that  she  would  marry,  some  one  else  ? 
It  was  simply  impossible. 

"  The  meaning,"  she  answ^ered,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  is, 
that  Zvlary  wanted  to  leave  her  fortune  to  Mr.  Devereux — to  whom 
she  thought  that  all  the  property  in  litigation  justly  belonged — 
but  he  desired  her  so  earnestly  not  to  do  so  that  she  left  it  to 
me,  and  then  wrote  this  letter,  telling  me  that  she  wdfihed  him  to 
have  it." 

As  she  completed  this  most  lame  and  blundering  explana- 
tion, Madeleine  felt  that  the  amazement  on  Lacy's  face  was  not 
remarkable.  He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  thouorht  it  a  vistv  doubt- 
ful  question  whether  or  not  she  were  sane. 

"  Are  you  really  in  earnest  ?  "  he  said,  at  last.    *'  Had  Miss  Car 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE   END.  405 

lisle  lost  her  senses  ?  Left  her  property  to  you,  and  then  wrote 
a  letter  saying  she  wished  Devereux  to  have  it  ?  I  never  heard, 
such  a  meaningless  absurdity  in  my  life !  If  she  wanted  him  to 
have  it,  why  on  earth  did  she  not  leave  it  to  him  ?  " 

"He  asked  her  not  to  do  so." 

"  And  yet  she  thought  he  would  accept  it  from. you — by  Jove  1 
There  are  no  words  to  characterize  such  folly.  In  fact,  it  is  more 
than  folly — it's  downright  craziness !  Your  friend  must  have 
been  out  of  her  mind,  Madeleine." 

"  No,  she  was  not,"  said  Madeleine ;  "  she  was  only  blind  and 
— mistaken.  She  knew  so  little  of  the  world — nothing  of  hu- 
man nature.  Poor  Mary  !  She  meant  to  act  for  the  best,  and 
yet  how  much  trouble  she  has  made  for  me — for  all  of  us ! " 

"  I  do  not  see  any  necessity  for  that,"  said  Lacy,  a  little 
coldly.  "  Such  folly  is  scarcely  worth  a  second  thought.  As  you 
say,  it  dis23la3's  supreme  ignorance — nothing  else.  Of  course,  it 
does  not  bind  you  at  all." 

"  Do  you  think  not  ?  "  asked  Madelfeine.  Her  face  grew  a 
shade  paler;  her  eyes  gazed  at  him  with  steady  sadness.  Sud- 
denly she  felt  the  struggle  before  her.  It  was  borne  to  her  not 
as  an  instinct,  but  as  a  certainty,  that  Lacy  would  not  approve 
of  what  she  felt  bound  to  do. 

"  I  am  sure  not,"  he  answered,  decidedly.  "  Is  this  the  phan- 
tom that  is  disturbing  you  ?  Listen  to  a  little  reason  about  it. 
In  the  first  place,  there  is  every  presumption  that  Miss  Carlisle 
wrote  that  letter  when  entirely  incapable  of  exercising  even  her 
ordinary  power  of  judgment ;  therefore,  even  if  its  substance  were 
sensible,  it  would  not  bind  you  to  a  direct  contradiction  of  her 
will.  But  its  substance  is  not  sensible.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
simply  absurd  to  imagine  that  Devereux  would  accept  a  fortune 
in  such  a  manner.  Refuse  it  from  Tiei\  and  take  it  from  yoxi ! 
The  idea  is  too  preposterous  to  be  worth  serious  consideration." 

"  I  fear  you  are  right,"  said  Madeleine,  looking  troubled, 

"  but,  even  if  he  does  refuse,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  retain 

it." 

"  What ! "  said  Lacy.     His  astonishment  had  been  ascending 
18 


406  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

like  a  scale  in  music,  and  this  exclamation  marked  the  highest 
point.     A  vivid  change  passed  over  his  face — a  change  embody 
ing  coldness,  disgust,  incredulity.     *'  You  cannot  mean  such  a 
thino' !  "  he  said. 

"  How  can  I  mean  any  thing  else  ?  "  asked  Madeleine,  eagerly 
— almost  nervously.  "  Stop  a  minute  and  think  !  The  fortune 
was  Mary's,  and  she  tells  me  with  her  last  breath  what  she 
wishes  done  with  it.  How  can  I  be  honorable,  and  refuse  to  do 
what  she  desires  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  not  as  keen  a  sense  of  honor  as  your- 
self ?  "  demanded  Lacy.  "  But  this  is  mere  Quixotism.  The  for- 
tune is  not  only  legally  but  morally  yours.  If  you  throw  it 
away — but  I  will  not  entertain  such  an  idea  !  Madeleine,  my 
darling,  for  Heaven's  sake,  trust  to  my  judgment !  You  are  not 
fitted  t'o  judge — you  are  overwrought,  and  ready  to  see  things  in 
an  exaggerated  light.^  I  am  sane  and  cool,  and  I  tell  you  that 
you  will  be  doing  yourself,  and  every  one  connected  with  you,  a 
grievous  wrong  if  you  act  in  this  manner." 

"  I  do  not  think  of  myself,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  low  sob. 
"  But  I  confess  it  is  hard  to  think  of  others — of  Basil,  and  of  you, 
dear  Gordon — " 

But  Gordon  threw  his  head  back  haughtily.  This  was  not 
the  kind  of  consideration  he  wanted.  "  I  beg  you  will  not  think 
of  me — at  least,  not  in  such  a  connection  as  that,"  he  said. 
"  If  you  believe  that  I  have  been  pleading  for  myself,  you  do 
me  great  injustice.  I  certainly  hoped  that  the  long  period  of 
waiting  to  which  we  have  looked  forward  might  be  abridged 
by  your  good  fortune ;  but  I  could  afford  such  a  hope  since  I 
think "  (quite  loftilj^)  "  that  I  have  sufficiently  proved  my  dis- 
interestedness." 

"  Do  you  fancy  that  I  ever  doubted  it  ?  "  asked  Madeleine. 
Her  ej^es  were  brimming  with  wistful  tears,  but  they  did  not 
soften  Lacy's  heart,  which  was  just  then  full  of  resentment. 
Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  outraged  before — so  set  aside 
and  made  of  no  account,  where  he  should  have  been  of  chief 
importance  !     It  was  almost  incredible  I     After  all  his  sacrifices 


THE  BEGIXXIXG   OF  THE   EXD.  407 

for  Madeleine,  was  it  possible  that  she    could  treat  him  like 
this! 

"  If  our  engagement  means  any  thing  at  all,"  he  presently 
said,  "  it  means  that  you  have  bound  3'ourself  to  some  regard 
for  my  wishes,  and  respect  for  my  opinions.  If  you  persist  in 
your  present  intention,  it  will  prove  that  you  have  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other,  and  the  engagement,  therefore,  is  little  more 
than  an  empty  body  without  a  spirit." 

"  Have  I  ever  failed  to  show  regard  for  your  wishes  before  ?  " 
asked  Madeleine.  "  Do  you  not  know  that  it  almost  breaks  my 
heart  to  act  in  opposition  to  you  ?  Gordon,  I  thought  you  would 
feel  with  me  that,  however  hard  the  necessity  might  be,  it  is  a 
necessity.  After  all,  we  are  only  where  we  were  before  that 
will  was  opened." 

"  Only  where  we  were  !  "  repeated  Gordon.  He  uttered  a 
short,  sarcastic  laugh.  "And  pray  where  was  that  ?  You  may 
not  have  realized,  but  I  have,  for  weeks  and  months  past,  that 
our  engagement  has  been  simply  a  hopeless  clinging  to  some- 
thing without  definite  end.  I  knew  that  we  could  never  afford 
to  marry,  unless  some  entirely  unforeseen  good  fortune  happened 
to  one  of  us.  The  good  fortune  came — from  Heaven,  as  it  were — 
and  you  tell  me  that  you  mean  to  throw  it  away." 

"  But  it  has  not  ever  really  been  mine,"  said  Madeleine, 
gazing  at  him  with  all  her  heart  in  her  eyes — eyes  which  pleaded 
mutely  for  one  word  of  encouragement,  one  word  of  acquiescence 
in  the  sacrifice  for  honor's  sake — "  Mary  did  not  mean  it  for  me, 
it  was  of  Mr.  Devereux  she  thoug-ht." 

"  And  it  must  surely  be  of  Mr.  Devereux  that  7/ou  think," 
said  Lacy,  forgetting  himself  in  the  sense  of  indignant  impo- 
tence which  possessed  him,  in  finding  that  even  his  influence  over 
Madeleine  was  powerless  to  change  her  resolution.  "  Your 
solicitude  for  him  must  certainly  be  great,  since,  to  place  at  his 
feet  a  fortune  which  he  is  not  likely  to  accept — and  to  which  he 
has  not  the  slio^htest  claim — vou  are  willins^  to  throw  Basil  on 
the  world  without  occupation,  and  to  render  our  marriage  vir- 
tually impossible,  ' 


408  A  QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

"  O  Gordon,  liow  cao  you  be  so  cruel !  "  said  Madeleine,  She 
clasped  her  hands  together,  and  lifted  her  appealing  face  toward 
him,  as — having  risen  from  his  chair — he  stood  before  her.  "  Is 
it  I  who  will  do  all  this  ?  But  surely  you  perceive  that  I  can- 
not help  it — when  duty  and  honor  are  at  stake,  one  cannot  count 
sacrifices.  Basil  thinks  that  I  am  right.  He  has  gone  to  Mr, 
Devereux  now." 

Lacy  looked  confounded.  This  was  worse — much  worse — 
than  he  had  expected.  He  grew  fairly  white  with  anger — anger 
which  for  a  moment  rendered  him  incapable  of  expression. 
When  he  spoke  at  last,  his  voice  was  so  tense  that  it  did  not 
sound  like  his  own.  "  In  that  case,"  he  said,  "  it  seems  to  me 
hardly  worth  while  to  keep  up  such  a  farce  as  our  engagement 
has  become.  You  think  of  every  one  before  me,  you  consult 
every  one  but  me.  You  are  only  kind  enough  to  inform  me  after 
you  have  already  taken  steps  to  commit  such  a  stupendous  act 
of  folly  as  this." 

"  With  regard  to  the  engagement,  it  must  be  as  you  like," 
said  Madeleine.  She  also  rose,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  anger 
or  haughtiness  in  her  manner — only  a  grave,  gentle  dignity 
touched  with  sadness.  This  was  no  shock  to  her.  She  knew 
now  that  for  some  time  she  had  expected  it.  How  much  pain 
it  held  for  her,  she  did  not  stop  to  ask.  The  pride  which  often 
stands  a  woman  in  good  stead  upheld  her,  as  she  went  on :  "  Even 
if  it  comes  to  that  issue,  I  cannot  recede  from  what  I  know  to 
be  right.  You  should  not  ask  it  of  me — and,  above  all,  you 
should  not  insinuate,  as  you  did  a  moment  ago,  that  I  think  of 
any  thing  but  my  honor.  That  not  only  wronged  me,  but  it  was 
unworthy  of  you.  If  you  think  it  best  for  us  to  part,  do  me  the 
justice  to  remember  hereafter  that  it  was  by  3'our  act — not  mine." 

As  the  clear,  sweet  tones  ceased,  there  was  a  silence  for  a 
minute,  and,  if  ever  the  forces  of  good  and  evil  fought  in  a  man's 
soul,  they  did  in  Lacy's  then.  He  was  half  minded  to  say,  "  Do 
what  you  will — ^I  cannot  live  without  you ! "  to  beg  her  to  for- 
give him  and  let  him  keep  the  treasure  of  her  faith.  But  the 
demon  of  selfishness,  which  he  had  been  fostering  for  months  past. 


THE   COST   OF   SACRIFICE.  409 

rose  up  uow  in  the  might  which  he  had  given  it.  "  Think  of 
your  own  prospects,"  said  that  mentor ;  "  remember  your  brill- 
iant talents  w-hich  only  need  a  field  ;  think  of  all  the  sacrifices 
you  have  already  made,  and  do  not  bind  you  life  any  longer  in 
idle,  aimless  waiting.  Break  your  chain,  and  go  into  the  world 
a  free  man." 

Listening  to  this  excellent  counsel,  there  was  no  softening 
in  his  tone  when  he  answered  Madeleine's  last  words.  "  I  can- 
not admit  that.  It  is  your  act — not  mine — which  separates  us. 
You  show  me  plainly  and  decidedly  of  how  little  importance  I 
am  in  your  life.  I  should  have  little  self-respect  if  I  could  con- 
tinue to  fill  the  position  of  your  betrothed  husband,  while  in  a 
matter  which  concerns  you  vitally  you  put  me  contemptuously 
aside.  But  all  this  is  useless.  Pardon  some  of  the  terms  I  haye 
ventured  to  use,  and  let  me  say  good-mcrning." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Madeleine,  holding  out  her  hand.  The 
same  strange,  sad  gentleness  was  in  her  tone  and  gesture.  Dim- 
ly Lacy  felt  that  she  looked  as  a  guardian  angel  might  when 
forced  to  leave  an  erring  human  soul.  "  God  bless  you !  "  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Don't  imagine  that  I  have  any  harsh 
thoughts.  Perhaps  you  are  right — ^^^rhaps  it  is  best.  I  seem 
to  have  failed  to  make  you  happy.  But  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
hear  that  you  have  found  happiness  elsewhere.     Believe  that." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  that  you  are  completely  indifierent  to 
me,"  replied  he — angered  afresh  by  this,  yet  touched,  indignant, 
desiring — he  knew  not  what.  He  did  not  take  her  outstretched 
hand,  but,  retreating  a  little,  made  a  quick,  defiant  bow  and  was 
gene. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE     COST     OF     SACEIFICE. 

As  Lacy's  ringing  step  passed  away,  Madeleine  sank  down 
again  in  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen,  and  asked  herself 
if  life  had  ended  within  her,  or  why  she  felt  so  strangely  stunned 


ilO  A   QUESTION   OF   HOXOR. 

and  quiet.  Her  power  of  emotion  seemed  for  the  time  suspend- 
ed ;  she  was  not  conscious  either  of  indignation  or  pain.  She 
had  simply  a  dull  sense  of  having  received  a  heavy  blow,  and 
she  said  quietly,  "  It  is  over  !  " 

After  a  while  she  rose  and  went  up-stairs — stopping  a  mo- 
ment in  the  hall  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Severn  in  her  usual  manner. 
"  You  look  pale,  Madeleine,"  said  that  good  lady,  but  this  was 
all  she  noticed.  "  I  feel  a  little  tired,"  replied  Madeleine,  and 
went  on  to  her  room,  where  she  closed  the  door.  Even  then, 
however,  it  was  not  to  give  way  to  any  burst  of  grief.  She 
wondered  at  her  own  singular  apath}^  and  calm.  She  laid  aside 
her  hat  and  jacket,  walked  to  the  mirror  and  smoothed  her  hair, 
saying  again  half  mechanically — as  she  met  her  own  sad  ej-es  : 
"  It  is  over !     Why  do  I  not  care  more  ?  " 

Yet,  as  she  asked  the  question,  instinct  warned  her  that  the 
reaction  of  keen  suffering  was  to  come.  Only  light  natures — 
natures  to  whom  love  is  incomprehensible  (save  in  its  lowest 
forms  of  foolish  sentiment  or  animal  passion),  and  faith  a  jest- 
can  break  without  a  pang  such  ties,  and  end  such  ho23es  as  Made- 
leine had  seen  vanish  from  her  that  mornino-.  Pain  is  the  chrism 
which  concentrates  all  sacrifices,  and  pain  was  yet  to  wring  her 
heart  in  its  strong  grasp.  Some  realization  of  this — together 
with  a  great  sense  of  emptiness  and  desolation — made  her  sink 
on  her  knees  before  an  oratory  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  At 
the  feet  of  the  large,  white  crucifix  lay  a  rosary  and  an  "  Imita- 
tion." She  opened  the  last  like  one  seeking  words  of  comfort, 
and  this  was  w4iat  she  read  : 

"  Free  me  from  all  e\dl  passions,  and  cure  my  heart  of  all 
disorderly  affections ;  so  that,  inwardly  healed  and  well  purified, 
I  may  become  apt  to  love,  courageous  to  suffer,  and  steadfast  to 
persevere. 

"  A  great  thing  is  love,  a  great  good  every  way ;  which  alone 
lighteneth  all  that  is  burdensome,  and  beareth  equally  all  that 
is  unequal. 

"For  it  carrieth  a  burden  without  being  burdened,  and  mak- 
eth  all  else  that  is  bitter  sweet  and  savory. 


THE   COST  OF  SACRIFICE.  411 

"  Love  will  tend  upward  and  not  be  detained  by  things  be- 
neath. 

"Love  will  be  at  liberty,  and  free  from  all  worldly  aflection, 
that  its  interior  vision  be  not  hindered ;  that  it  suffer  itself  not 
to  be  entangled  with  any  temporal  interest,  nor  cast  down  by 
misfortune. 

"  Nothing  is  sweeter  than  love,  nothing  stronger,  nothing 
higher,  nothing  wider,  nothing  more  pleasant,  nothing  fuller  or 
better  in  heaven  or  in  earth :  for  love  is  born  of  God,  and  cannot 
rest  but  in  God,  above  all  created  things." 

Golden  words  of  heavenly  wisdom  which   in  their  tender 

sweetness  loosed  the  bonds  of  numb  apathy,  and  brought  a  wave 

of  sorrow  over  her  soul.     "  O  Lord,"  she  cried,  "  give  to  me  this 

cliWne  love,  so  that  the  desertion  of  no  human  friend,  the  failure 

I   of  no  human  faith,  may  grieve  the  spirit  fixed  on  Thee." 

An  hour  later  Basil  returned  and  asked  for  Madeleine.  "  She 
is  up-stairs,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Severn,  from  whom  the  weight 
of  years  seemed  lifted  by  the  pleasant  consciousness  that  hence- 
forth she  would  have  no  need  to  darn  table-linen,  or  pay  visits 
on  foot.  "  Gordon  Lacy  was  here  for  some  time,  and  after  he 
left  she  went  to  her  own  room.  Shall  I  send  and  let  her  know 
you  want  to  see  her?" 

"No,"  answ^ered  Basil,  after  a  pause;  "I  will  wait  till  she 
comes  down.  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  see  her  at  once. 
Probably  she  is  resting.     She  took  a  long  walk  this  morning." 

He  went  out  of  the  sitting-room  without  saying  any  more 
than  this.  He,  too,  felt  tired  in  mind  and  body,  weary  of  the 
strain  of  much  emotion,  and  disposed  to  defer  the- disagreeable 
duty  of  telling  his  step-mother  what  a  mere  dream  Madeleine's 
fortune  was  to  prove.  "Nothing  is  settled  yet,"  he  thought. 
"  There  is  time  enough." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Madeleine  to  remain  in  her  owtq  room 
when  the  dinner-bell  rang.  She  had  never  been  one  of  the 
women  who  "give  way,"  and  to  w^hom  every  thing  niust  be  ac- 
commodated. On  the  contrary,  she  was  one  of  those  in  whom 
long  habit  had  trained  the  original  impulse  of  self-control,  until 


412  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

she  was  capable,  even  in  great  emergencies,  of  putting  her  own 
feelings  aside  and  caring  unselfislilj  for  tlie  comfort  of  those 
around  her.  It  was  this  impulse  which  made  her  rise  now  from 
the  couch,  on  which  she  had  thrown  herself  in  utter  exhaustion, 
and  go  down-stairs.  To  bear  her  burden  bravely,  to  hide  as  far 
as  possible  the  depth  of  her  w^ound,  and  to  make  no  one  else 
unhajipy  because  she  w^as  miserable — these  were  the  ends  which 
half-unconsciously  she  proposed  to  herself,  and  it  was  thus  that 
the  brave,  sweet  spirit  rose  up,  without  bitterness,  to  meet  the 
sufferino:  which  had  fallen  on  it. 

Basil  noticed  her  altered  looks  and  absolute  want  of  appetite 
at  dinner,  though  he  wisely  abstained  from  remark ;  but  after 
they  rose  from  table  he  followed  her  into  the  hall  and  pro- 
posed that  they  should  go  into  the  garden.  "  The  day  is  de- 
lightful," he  added,  "  and  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  Wait  till  I  put  on  a  hat,"  said  Madeleine.  The  hat  was 
soon  put  on,  and  then  they  went  into  the  garden  together. 
The  day  was  indeed  delightful — full  of  the  breath  of  advancing 
spring,  and  soft  with  a  faint,  purple  mist.  Who  does  not  know 
the  feeling  of  such  a  day  in  February  ?  Birds  are  singing,  buds 
are  expanding,  green  shoots  are  coming  up  out  of  the  brown 
earth,  flowers  are  gay  along  the  garden  borders,  an  odor  of  violets 
fills  the  air. 

Yet  to  those  over  whom  the  shadow  of  grief  rests,  there  is 
nothing,  perhaps,  more  mournful  than  such  a  day.  The  dreariest 
December  sky  would  be  more  welcome  than  this  buoyancy  of 
awakening  life.  "  It  is  only  when  the  first  bitterness  of  the 
spirit  is  past,  that  the  voice  of  Nature  can  reach  sad  ears.  Her 
call  is  too  still,  too  gentle,  to  be  heard  when  a  tumult  is  in  the 
heart." 

There  was  a  tumult  in  Madeleine's  heart,  little  as  she  gave 
any  sign  of  it,  and  so  the  multitudinous  sweet  sounds  and  scents 
rather  oppressed  than  cheered  her.  She  did  not  even  notice  her 
favorite  flowers,  but  plunged  immediately  into  the  subject  that 
demanded  her  attention,  if  it  did  not  claim  her  interest.  "  What 
did  Mr.  Devereux  say,  Basil  ?  "  she  asked. 


THE   COST  OF   SACRIFICE.  413 

"  Exactly  what  I  expected/'  Basil  replicl.  "  He  refuses 
absolutely  to  hear  of  such  a  thing  as  acceiDting  the  property,  and 
he  is  coming  this  afternoon  to  tell  you  so." 

"  That  is  unnecessary,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  chord  of 
impatience  in  her  voice.  "  Did  you  not  tell  hhn  that,  as  far  as 
lam  concerned,  the  matter  is  fixed — that  nothing  can  change  my 
resolution  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  told  him  that,  and  a  great  deal  more.  I  think  we 
must  have  talked  for  an  hour  and  a  half;  but  I  left  him  as  de- 
cided as  I  found  him.  I  don't  think  he  has  the  least  idea  of 
yielding." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Madeleine,  "  but  even  in  that  case  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  keep  the  property.  Am  I  not  right?'* 
said  she,  stopping  and  turning  to  him  appealingly.  "  Should  I 
not  give  it  up  ?  " 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  Basil.  "  The  more  I  think  of 
it,  the  more  I  am  convinced  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
you  honorably  to  retain  property  which  was  bequeathed  to  you 
under  an  altogether  false  impression.  Mary  left  it  to  you  be- 
cause she  thought  she  would  thereby  be  virtually  leaving  it  to 
Devereux.     Now,  for  you  to  take  it  and  marry  another  man — " 

Something  in  Madeleine's  face — a  certain  shrinking  expres- 
sion— hushed  the  words  on  his  lips.  He  thought  suddenly  of 
Lacy,  and  was  not  surprised  when  she  looked  up  with  a  faint 
quiver  of  her  lips.  ''Never  mind  about  that,"  she  said.  "There 
is  no  need  to  take  into  consideration  any  thing  about  marriage. 
The  fact  simply  remains  that  I  cannot  honorably  keep  the  for- 
tune.    That  is  enough." 

"Madeleine,"  said  Basil,  suddenly  taking  her  hand,  "is  your 
en2:ao;ement  broken  ?  " 

"  It  is  at  an  end,"  she  answered,  simply.  Then,  as  she  saw  a 
quick  flash  of  anger  in  his  eyes,  she  put  out  her  other  hand 
and  laid  it  on  his  wrist.  "Tliere  is  nothing  to  resent,"  she 
said,  "nothing  to  regret.  When  two  people  recognize  that 
they  have  made  a  mistake,  it  is  best  to  end  it — do  you  not 
think  so  ?  " 


il4  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

"  But  why  is  it  that  you — that  Lacy — only  recognized  your 
mistake  this  morning  ?  "  asked  he,  looking  at  her  suspiciously. 

"  We  have  been  advancing  to  the  recognition  for  some 
time,"  she  replied.  "  I  see  that  now.  This  morning  we  faced 
the  truth.  No  one  is  to  blame.  It  is  for  the  best.  I  am  sure 
of  that." 

"Zam  sure,"  said  Basil,  full  of  heat,  "  that  Lacy  objected  to 
your  resigning  this  fortune." 

She  smiled — a  shadowy  ghost  of  a  smile.  "  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor said  that  the  secrets  of  the  household  should  be  known  to 
God  and  the  saints  alone,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  always  thought 
that  the  affairs  of  those  who  are — who  were — lovers,  should  rest 
under  the  same  seal.  I  cannot  describe  even  to  you,  dear  Basil, 
how  we  parted.  It  is  surely  enough  to  say  that  tio  one  is  to 
blame." 

Then  silence  fell  for  several  minutes  as  they  paced  the  garden- 
paths  together,  between  trim,  old-fashioned  lines  of  box  and  cedar. 
Basil  knew,  as  clearly  as  if  Madeleine  had  spoken,  the  general 
purport  of  what  had  occurred  with  Lacy;  and  his  prophetic 
heart  warned  him  that  something  very  like  it  would  occur  when 
Helen  Champion  came  to  know  how  Madeleine  and  himself 
meant  to  support  the  Severn  tradition  of  "honor  before  all 
things."  Yet  this  brother  and  sister  were  fortunate  above  many 
of  their  fellows  in  that  each  had  the  other's  faithful  affection  for 
compensation  when  that  which  the  world  called  love  fell  away. 
They  were  spared  the  terrible  sense  of  isolation  which  over- 
whelms the  spirit  when  such  a  sacrifice  must  be  made  without 
any  support,  when  a  human  soul  is  called  by  God  into  the  drear 
desert  of  pain,  alone. 

The  afternoon  was  nearly  spent,  and  the  sun  was  sloping  low 
in  the  west,  before  Devereux  presented  himself  at  the  Severn 
door  and  asked  for  Madeleine.  He  was  ushered  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  a  fire  was  burning,  though  a  window  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room  was  open,  and  the  fragrance  of  hya- 
cinths was  heavy  on  the  air.  The  last  time  that  he  had  been 
here  was  on  the  morning  of  his  return  to  Stansbury,  and  the 


THE   COST   OF   SACRIFICE.  415 

whole  apartment  seemed  to  him  full  of  that  recollection.  He 
could  hear  Madeleine's  soft  voice  speaking  of  sacrifices  which 
should  be  easy  "  for  love's  sw^eet  sake,"  and  he  could  see  Mary 
enter.  Only  yesterday !  yet  part  of  a  past  as  utterly  dead  as  if 
the  tender  face  that  brightened  for  him  that  morning  had  been 
a  century  underground ! 

He  was  standing  near  a  w^indow  through  which  the  level 
sunshine  poured  in  a  slanting  golden  stream,  when  Madeleine 
entered.  Though  he  turned  at  once,  his  eyes  were  too  much 
dazzled  by  the  radiance  to  appreciate  for  some  time  the  great 
change  in  her  appearance.  When  it  gradually  became  clear  to 
him,  he  was  sincerely  shocked.  The  deep  mourning  which  she 
wore  threw  into  relief  her  colorless  face,  with  its  dark-rino-ed 
eyes  and  pale  lips.  Watching,  grief,  excitement,  pain — each 
in  turn  had  done  its  work  and  left  its  trace  on  the  mobile 
countenance.  Devereux  had  too  much  tact  to  repeat  what  he 
had  inadvertently  said  once  before,  "  How  badly  you  look ! " 
but  his  voice  expressed  the  same  thing,  when — after  they  had 
shaken  hands  almost  silently — he  said  : 

"  I  fear  you  have  not  rested  properly  yet — you  still  show 
signs  of  fatigue.  I  am  sorry — veiy  sorry — that  you  should 
have  been  annoyed  so  soon  by  matters  relating  to  business." 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,"  said  Madeleine  ;  "  a  little  tired,  per- 
haps, but  that  is  all.  As  for  business,  it  will  trouble  me  very 
little.  Basil  has  told  you,  Mr.  Devereux,  that  it  was  Mary's  de- 
sire that  you  should  have  her  fortune,  and  that  I  therefore  have 
no  alternative  but  to  make  it  over  to  you." 

"  Your  brother  told  me  something  of  the  kind,  but  it  is — if 
you  will  excuse  me — so  utterly  out  of  the  question,  that  I  have 
not  given  it  the  least  serious  consideration." 

*'  But  you  must  give  it  serious  consideration,"  said  Made- 
leine. "  It  is  a  matter  which  concerns  you  chiefly ;  indeed,  I 
may  say  altogether.  What  have  I  to  do  with  it  ?  Nothing  ex- 
cept that  I  am  placed  in  the  position  of  one  to  whom  a  trust 
and  not  an  inheritance  has  been  left." 

"  How  am  I  to  reason  with  you  on  a  subject  so  far  beyond 


4:16  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

the  province  of  reason  ? "  said  Devereux,  as  they  sat  down. 
"  If  Mary  knew  so  little  of  the  world  as  to  write  such  a  letter 
as  that  to  which  your  brother  alluded,  you  certainly  ought  to 
be  aware  that  it  is  simply  impossible  for  me  to  accept  in  this 
manner  a  bequest  w^hich  I  absolutely  refused  to  accept  through 
the  regular  form  of  a  will."  , 

"  I  know  that  there  are  difficulties  iu  the  waj*,"  she  answered, 
"  and  I  appreciate  the  awkwardness  of  the  position  in  which  it 
places  you ;  but  tny  course  is  clear ;  whether  you  refuse  or 
whether  you  accept  the  fortune,  Mr.  Devereux,  I  will  have  none 
of  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  j^ou  will  not  keep  it  under  any  circum- 
stances ?  " 

"  I  mean  distinctly  that  I  will  not  keep  it  under  any  circum- 
stances." 

"  Miss  Severn,  for  Heaven's  sake,  consider — " 

She  stopped  him  by  a  gesture.  "  Spare  me,  if  you  please. 
I  do  not  feel  equal  to  a  long  discussion.  I  have  had  too  many 
of  them  already.  Argument  is  useless.  There  is  but  one  thing 
for  me  to  do,  and  that  I  intend  to  do.  The  fortune  is  not  hon- 
orably mine,  Mr.  Devereux,  and  I  will  not  keep  it." 

"  Give  it  away,  then.  There  are  the  heirs-at-law.  Hand  it 
over  to  them." 

"  That  would  not  be  what  Mary  wished.  Besides,  I  have 
no  right  to  give  it  to  any  one  but  you.  After  it  is  yours,  you 
can  hand  it  over  to  them  if  you  like." 

"  It  never  will  be  mine,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  Understand 
that  once  for  all.  There  is  nothing  which  could  induce  me  to 
take  it — not  even  Mary's  last  wishes,  not  even  your  desire.  If 
you  were  not — you,  I  should  be  indignant  at  such  a  proposal^ 
As  it  is,  I  fear  that  you  must  think  poorly  of  me,  else  you  could 
not  make  it." 

"  How  can  you  wrong  me  by  saying  such  a  thing  ! "  said 
Madeleine.  "  Think  poorly  of  you  ? — I  am  sure  you  know  bet- 
ter than  that.     As  for  Mary — she  meant  to  act  for  the  best." 

"  I  never  entertained  the  least  doubt  of  that,"  he  said,  with 


THE  COST   OF  SACRIFICE.  417 

a  strain  of  emotion  in  his  voice.  "  But  the  matter  is  a  com- 
plete m3'stery  to  me.  I  cannot  imagine  why  she  should  have 
thought  that  I  would  take  from  you  what  I  refused  from 
her." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  3'ou  should  not  understand,"  said  Made- 
leine, "  but  there  is  only  one  thing  for  me  to  do." 

Then  there  was  a  pause.  Devereux  felt,  as  he  said,  that  the 
matter  was  wrapped  in  mj'stery,  but  he  also  entertained  a  sus- 
picion of  what  lay  beneath  the  mystery  and  made  Madeleine  so 
determined.  This  suspicion  was  necessarily  vague,  and  took  no 
definite  form.  Madeleine,  on  her  part,  said  to  herself  that  she 
was  not  accountable  for  the  mystery.  It  was  clearly  impossible 
for  her  to  show  Devereux  Mary's  letter.  Things  must  be  as 
they  were  :  she  could  not  smooth  the  tangled  threads  in  which 
her  own  life  and  the  lives  of  others  were  caught.  A  sense  of 
dull  apathy  weighed  on  her;  Devereux  thought  that  he  had 
never  seen  her  so  little  responsive  in  sympathy,  so  cold,  so  un- 
like herself.  Naturally  conscience — which  makes  self-accusers 
as  well  as  cowards  of  us  all — made  him  suspect  that  this  might 
have  its  origin  in  his  fault.  What  had  Mary  said  in  that  letter 
which  it  seemed  he  was  not  to  see  ? 

The  feehno;:  of  constraint  which  followed  these  reflections 
with  both,  was  not  remarkable  ;  and  when  Devereux  spoke,  his 
voice  was  so  decided  that  it  sounded  almost  stern : 

"  If  you  feel  that  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  retain  the  prop- 
erty," he  said,  "  do  what  you  like  with  it — endow  a  church,  if 
you  choose — but  understand  as  a  final  matter  that  I  refuse  ab- 
solutely to  receive  it.  To  any  one  but  yourself  I  should  say 
this  in  much  more  imperative  terms.  If  it  is  a  question  of  hon- 
or with  you  to  relinquish  it,  still  more  is  it  a  question  of  honor 
with  me  to  refuse  it." 

What  could  Madeleine  reply  to  this  ?  She  felt  that,  in  his 
place,  she  would  act  as  he  was  doing,  yet  she  also  felt  how 
much  his  resistance  complicated  her  position.  Under  the  influ- 
ence of  these  feelings  she  made  what  might  perhaps  be  called 
an  exceedingly  feminine  plea.     "  You  are  very  unkind,"  she 


ilS  A  QUESTION   OF  HOXOK. 

said,  with  something  like  a  sob  in  her  voice,  "  you  ought  to 
think  more  of  me." 

It  was  so  chikllike,  and  under  some  circumstances  would 
have  been  so  irresistible,  that  Devereux  could  scarcely  restrain 
a  smile.  "  I  would  do  any  thing  else  for  you,"  he  said.  "But 
this  you  ought  not  to  ask.  It  is  simply  impossible.  I  have  al- 
ready decided  what  to  do — my  plans  are  all  made.  I  am  going 
to  Colorado — to  the  friend  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you  once 
before." 

"  Going — away  so  far  !  "  said  Madeleine.  Tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes  not  so  much  for  his  departure  as  for  a  sense  of  the 
change  and  instability  of  all  earthly  things.  There  seemed  an 
upheaval  going  on  of  all  her  familiar  world.  "  You  are  not 
acting  justly,"  she  added,  after  a  minute,  almost  passionately. 
"  You  are  throwing  all  this  burden  on  me,  and  it  is  not  right. 
Nothing  can  make  me  retain  the  fortune  ;  but  you  are  throwing 
the  trouble,  the  responsibility,  the  weight — " 

"  I  would  relieve  you  of  them  if  I  could,"  said  Devereux, 
gently,  as  she  stopjDed,  but  I  cannot  do  so  without  taking  the 
property,  and  that  is  out  of  the  question." 

So  it  was  to  this  point  they  both  returned.  Poor  Mary  little 
anticipated  such  a  clash  of  opposing  wills  when,  in  the  simplicity 
of  her  heart,  she  wrote  the  letter  which  caused  it.  Discussion 
seemed  useless.  Every  thing  came  to  this — one  would  not  re- 
tain, the  other  refused  to  accept.  How  the  matter  was  to  be 
finally  settled  seemed  a  puzzling  enigma. 


CHAPTER    V. 

"  SOME  THEEE  BE  THAT  SHADOWS  KISS." 

A  BOMB-SHELL  in  the  Champion  household  could  not  have  ex- 
cited more  consternation  than  the  news  of  Madeleine's  resolution. 
Basil,  by  his  sister's  request,  carried  the  intelligence  to  James 


««SOME  THERE  BE  THAT  SHADOWS  KISS."       419 

Chauipion,  asking  him  at  the  same  time  what  legal  forms  were 
necessary  for  the  transfer  of  the  property.  That  gentleman  was 
at  first  incredulous,  and  then  indignant — more  indignant  than 
he  had  ever  been  before  in  his  life.  Such  a  thing  was  without 
precedent  in  his  experience,  and  without  excuse  in  his  opinion. 
He  called  the  question  of  honor,  on  which  Basil  laid  stress,  a 
question  of  fiddlesticks ;  lie  pointed  out  the  moral  and  legal  claim 
which  Madeleine  possessed  to  the  fortune,  and  he  concluded  by 
saying  that,  if  she  persisted  in  such  egregious  folly,  he  would 
have  no  part  in  it ;  that  some  other  lawyer  must  be  found  to  do 
the  necessary  legal  work.  "  My  share  in  the  business  began  and 
ended  when  I  drew  up  Miss  Carlisle's  will,"  he  said.  "  Of  any 
foolish  letter  which  she  may  have  written  afterward,  I  know 
nothing.  I  thought  Madeleine  had  more  sense  than  to  act 
in  such  a  manner  as  this.  It  seems  one  is  never  safe  in  as- 
suming that  a  woman  may  not  be  carried  away  by  impulse." 

"I  am  not  a  woman,"  said  Basil,  "  and  I  agree  with  her." 

Champion  had  too  much  courtesy  to  say,  "  The  more  fool 
you  ! "  but — he  looked  it.  "  You  are  one  of  a  class  of  men  who 
are  cursed  by  a  morbid  sense  of  honor,"  he  said.  "  You  ought 
to  distrust  your  own  opinion  on  all  such  points.  Now,  I  am 
sure  that  I  am  an  honorable  man,  but,  under  the  circumstances, 
I  should  not  hesitate  to  take  the  fortune  and  to  keep  it." 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  I  have  no  idea  that  you  would  do 
any  thing  of  the  kind,"  returned  Basil,  dryly.  "  We  are  very  apt  to 
think  our  neighbor's  scruples  nonsense,  when,  if  we  were  placed 
in  his  position,  we  might  find  them  serious  enough.  However 
that  may  be,  Madeleine's  resolution  is  taken,  and  nothing  will 
change  it." 

"  I  shall  at  least  clear  my  conscience  by  letting  her  hear  my 
opinion  of  the  matter,"  said  Champion. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  went  to  see  Madeleine,  and 
let  her  hear  his  opinion  of  the  matter — a  terse,  decided,  lawyer- 
like and  common-sense  opinion,  which  might  have  influenced  a 
resolve  less  strongly  grounded  than  hers.  She  listened  with 
patience  and  replied  with  kindness,  but  he  recognized,  as  every 


i20  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

one  else  had  done,  that  her  determination  was  wl  oily  bej^ond 
his  power  of  moving.  When  he  returned  home  with  this  news, 
Rosalind's  disgust,  and  Helen's  dismay,  can  perhaps  be  imag- 
ined. The  latter  felt  that  she  had  "  committed  "  herself  to  Basil 
in  a  wholly  unnecessary  manner ;  the  former,  that  the  Severn 
star  had  set  again  in  deeper  gloom  than  ever.  She  was  philo- 
sophical about  the  matter,  however,  observing  that,  although 
she  had  always  known  that  Madeleine  and  Basil  were  full  of 
Quixotism,  she  bad  not  suspected,  until  now,  half  the  extent 
of  their  absurdity.  "  What  will  be  next  on  the  cards,  I  won- 
der? "  said  she.  "  Whom  will  Mr.  Devereux  bestow  the  fortune 
upon  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  IMrs.  Champion,  in  her  imposing  tone,  *'  Mr. 
Devereux  and  Madeleine  may  settle  the  matter  by  a  marriage." 

But  Rosalind  treated  this  suggestion  with  the  well-bred  scorn 
which  she  felt  that  it  deserved.  "  There  is  nothing  in  Madeleine 
to  attract  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Devereux,"  she  said,  with  the  calm 
decision  of  one  who  knows  whereof  she  speaks.  "  He  admires 
beautiful  women,  and  women  with  style.  Now,  one  could  as  soon 
associate  style  with  St.  Cecilia  as  with  Madeleine.  She  suits 
Gordon  Lacy  exactly,  and  will  probably  spend  her  youth  waiting 
for  him  to  make  a  fortune — which  he  never  will  make.  How  I 
detest  long  engagements  ! " 

"  Mr.  Lacy  said  the  other  day  that  he  thought  they  were 
generally  mistakes,"  remarked  Miss  Champion,  with  deliberate 
malice. 

"I  am  glad  Madeleine  has  made  liim  understand  that  at  last," 
returned  Rosalind,  coolly.  "  I  have  been  trying  for  some  time  to 
induce  her  to  discard  him." 

In  a  place  like  Stansbury,  whatever  is  known  to  three  or  four 
people  must  necessarily  soon  be  known  to  everybody,  and  before 
society  had  ceased  marveling  over  Mary  Carlisle's  will,  and  con- 
jecturing what  Madeleine  would  do — whether  she  would  imme- 
diately marry  Gordon  LiSlgj  ;  whether  Basil  would  buy  the  mills ; 
whether  they  would  all  go  to  live  at  the  Lodge,  etc.,  etc. — the 
news  of  her  resolution  to  resign  the  fortune   convulsed  Stans- 


"SOME  THERE  BE  THAT  SHADOWS  KISS."       421 

bar  J  to  its  centre  with  such  a  sensation  as  it  had  not  known 
before  for  j^ears.  People  were  so  astounded  that  they  simply 
stared  at  each  other,  and  said  at  intervals,  "  Did  j-ou  ever  hear 
the  like  ?  " 

Apparently  nobody  ever  had  heard  the  like.  There  was 
no  precedent  for  any  thing  of  the  kind  in  Stansbury  experience. 
A  dozen  wild  rumors  and  versions  of  the  story  were  set  afloat  in 
as  many  hours — versions  which  nobody  took  the  trouble  to  con- 
tradict, the  Severns  being  too  indifferent,  and  the  Champions 
too  angry.  The  town  was  rather  inclined  to  dullness  just  then 
—  a  chronic  condition  of  most  country  towns — and  it  was  conse- 
quently duly  grateful  for  such  a  dish  of  gossip.  Everj^body  was 
interested  in  Devereux's  movements.  What  did  he  mean  to  do  ? 
The  acute  public  mind  still  regarded  him  with  distrust  and  dis- 
approval. People  did  not  hesitate  to  hint  that  the  present  state 
of  aifairs  was  the  result  of  some  dee23-laid  plot  of  his — that 
he  had  induced  Mary  to  write  a  will  before  she  died,  which 
Madeleine  conceived  to  be  binding  in  honor,  though  it  was  not 
bindino-  in  law.  "If  it's  bindino-  in  honor,  it'll  be  the  same 
as  if  it  was  binding  in  law  with  the  Severns,"  said  some  of  the 
older  inhabitants,  who  knew  the  history  and  character  of  the 
family. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this,  nobody  (except,  perhaps,  Miss  Cham- 
pion) bestowed  much  thought  on  Gordon  Lacy,  but  it  is  to  be 
supposed  he  supplied  the  omission  by  bestowing  a  great  deal 
on  himself.  He  certainly  spent  two  or  three  moody  days  revolv- 
ing in  his  mind  the  situation  in  which  he  found  himself,  and 
finally  he  shook  the  dust  of  Stansbury  from  his  feet,  and  departed 
for  New  York — with  what  ulterior  intentions,  save  the  vague  one 
of  making  literature  a  profession,  even  his  own  family  did  not 
know. 

The  news  of  his  departure  added  slightly  to  the  general  sen- 
sation. *'  So  the  engagement  is  off  at  last !  "  gossips,  both  mas- 
culine and  feminine,  said  to  one  another — and  this  fact  estab- 
lished, public  comprehension  leaped  at  once  from  effect  to  cause. 
On  the  subject  there  was  but  one  opinion— that  Lacy  had  acted 


122  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

very  badly,  though  how  much  his  personal  unpopularity  helped 
to  make  this  ojDinion,  there  was  no  accurate  mode  of  determining. 
Those  who  have  in  any  manner  exalted  themselves  above  their 
fellows  must  expect  to  be  judged  by  a  severe  standard,  and 
Lacy  had  exalted  himself  most  superciliously.  Now  came  the 
inevitable  hour  when  performance,  measured  by  pretension,  ex- 
hibited a  very  shabby  discrepancy.  "  This  is  what  comes  of  all 
his  fine  words  and  ideas  ! "  cynical  friends  and  neighbors  re- 
marked. "  There's  many  a  man  who  never  knew  any  thing  about 
*  ideal  beauty '  in  his  life,  who  would  have  had  manliness  enough 
to  stand  by  the  woman  he  loved,  whether  she  was  rich  or  poor." 
Certainly  it  was  impossible  to  deny  that  ideal  beauty  had  not 
worked  a  very  beautiful  result  in  the  character  of  its  apostle — 
and  Stansbury  (mindful  of  having  been  more  than  once  de- 
nounced as  "  barbarous  ")  rejoiced  in  the  fact. 

When  Madeleine  heard  the  news  she  grew  a  shade  paler,  and 
her  lips  set  themselves  a  little,  but  that  was  all.  It  did  not  sur- 
prise her.  She  had  expected  something  of  the  kind — at  least 
she  felt  sure  that  her  parting  with  Lacy  was  final,  and  that  he 
was  as  clearly  conscious  of  this  as  herself.  It  was  no  sudden 
shock  which  had  separated  them,  but  many  causes  culminating 
at  last  in  one  definite  effect.  Rosalind,  who  had  brought  the 
intelligence,  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  dismissed  him  at  last,"  she  said. 
"  T  should  have  given  him  his  walking-papers  long  ago.  If  you 
were  only  going  to  keep  the  fortune  now,  like  a  sensible  person 
— only  in  that  case  I  am  confident  you  would  never  have  rid 
j^ourself  of  Gordon,  for  he  would  never  have  given  you  an  op- 
portunity to  do  so." 

"  Rosalind,  you  are  talking  about  what  you  don't  understand," 
said  Madeleine,  gravely.  "  My  engagement  to  Gordon  is  ended, 
but  you  are  mistaken  if  you  think  I  '  dismissed  '  him.  I  should 
take  shame  to  myself  if  I  had  broken  my  word  for  no  better  rea- 
son than  that  I  chose  to  do  so.  One's  word  is  too  sacred  a  thing 
to  be  given  or  reclaimed  lightly.  But  when  two  people  are 
agreed  that  it  is  best  to  part,  then  an  engagement  may  be  hoc 


"SOME  THERE  BE  THAT  SHADOWS  KISS."      423 

orably  dissolved.     It  was  in  that  way  that  Gordon  and  myself 
said  good-by." 

"  And  not  at  all,  I  suppose,  because  you  were  going  to  re- 
sign the  fortune  ?  "  said  Rosalind. 

Madeleine  waived  this  remark.  She  was  too  honorable  to 
deny  its  truth,  and  too  loyal  to  betra}'  the  man  she  had  loved. 
"  I  shall  not  answer  any  questions.  The  matter  rests  entirely 
between  Gordon  and  myself,  and,  if  I  do  not  blame  him,  no  one 
else  has  a  right  to  do  so." 

"I  am  glad  to  say  that  he  left  without  seeing  Helen,"  re- 
marked Rosalind,  amiably.  "  I  know  that  he  did  not  see  her, 
because  she  was  so  much  astonished  to  hear  that  he  was  gone, 
I  think  she  is  really  in  love  with  him — as  much  as  she  can  be 
in  love  with  anybody — and  I  am  sure  she  means  to  treat  Basil 
abominably  before  she  finishes  amusing  herself  with  him.  Why 
can't  you  warn  him,  Madeleine  ?  He  heeds  you.  It  really  puts 
me  out  of  patience  to  see  a  man  made  such  a  fool  of — and  by 
Helen  ! " 

"  You  did  not  think  it  strange  when  men  were  made  fools  by 
you,"  said  Madeleine,  smiling  faintly.  "  There  is  no  good  in 
warning  Basil.  He  must  learn  wisdom  for  himself,  and  I  fear 
that  he  is  learning  it  very  fast." 

She  was  right — Basil  was  learning  a  certain  kind  of  wisdom 
very  fast  indeed.  Yet  it  was  a  wisdom  which  no  one  need  de- 
sire to  learn — a  sorrowful  realization  of  what  some  writers  would 
fain  make  us  believe  the  rule  in  human  nature,  falsehood  for 
truth,  selfishness  for  tenderness,  shallowness  for  depth.  Happy 
is  the  man  who  has  not  at  some  period  of  his  life  learned  such  a 
lesson,  and  been  forced  to  feel  that — 

"  Sad  it  may  be  to  be  longing,  with  a  patience  faint  and  weary, 
For  a  hope  deferred — and  sadder  still  to  see  it  fade  and  fall ; 
Yet  to  grasp  the  thing  we  long  for,  and  with  sorrow  sick  and  dreary, 
Then  to  find  how  it  can  fail  us,  is  the  saddest  pain  of  all." 

What  he  had  longed  for  through  man}^  days,  Basil  grasped 
at  last  for  one  fleeting  moment,  and  lo  !  like  fairy  gold,  it  turned 
to  moss  and  leaves  in  his  grasp.     Though,  like  many  another 


424  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

man,  he  had  been  ensnared  by  mere  physical  beauty — beauty  in 
which  shone  no  ray  from  mind  or  soul — his  was  a  nature  which 
such  charms  had  no  power  to  satisfy.  And  herein  lay  one  great 
diiFerence  between  Lacy  and  himself.  The  former  felt,  as  keenly 
as  Basil  did,  that  Helen  Champion's  nature  was  of  the  shallow- 
est, her  range  of  thought  of  the  narrowest,  and  her  capacity  for 
sympathy  so  limited  that  it  scarcely  merited  the  name;  yet 
there  were  times  when  the  intellectual  man  found  pleasure  in 
her  society  from  these  very  causes,  when  he  was  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  relief  in  feeling  that  he  had  no  criticism  to  fear,  when 
his  vanity  was  gratified  by  her  homage  (utterly  Avithout  any 
power  of  real  insight  as  he  knew  her  to  be),  when  his  lower  na- 
ture asserted  itself  and  he  said  mentally  that  the  women  who 
serve  as  playthings  and  dolls  are  the  best  companions  for  man, 
who  wants  a  worshiper  at  his  footstool,  not  a  rival  near  the 
throne. 

Such  sentiments  as  these  were  utterly  foreign  to  Basil's  con- 
ception. They  found  neither  place  in  his  mind  nor  echo  in  his 
heart.  He  had  none  of  Lacy's  intellectual  gifts,  but  he  had  that 
which  is  much  higher  and  far  more  admirable — a  loyal,  gallant, 
knightly  nature.  Love  and  reverence  went  hand-in-hand  with 
him — for  in  the  instinctive  pride  and  purity  of  his  character,  he 
had  always  held  aloof  from  things  base  and  degrading — and, 
w^hen  reverence  began  to  fail,  love  could  not  long  survive.  Yet 
in  a  heart  like  his,  affection  takes  such  deep  root  that  its  death 
causes  a  struggle  which  a  lighter  nature  fails  to  imagine  or  com- 
prehend. Through  this  struggle  Madeleine  and  himself  were 
both  passing,  both  learning  by  degrees  the  unworthiness  of  the 
objects  on  which  they  had  lavished  their  tenderness,  yet  both 
loj^al,  as  it  were,  in  their  own  despite. 

During  these  days  which  were  sufficiently  uncomfortable  to 
everybody  concerned,  the  palm  of  discomfort  might,  perhaps 
have  been  awarded  to  Devereux.  He  was  still  firm  as  a  rock  in 
his  determination  not  to  accept  the  fortune  which  Madeleine,  od 
her  side,  was  firm  in  her  resolution  to  make  over  to  him ;  but  it 
may  readily  be  imagined  that  to  be  the  centre  of  such  a  commo- 


THE  LAST  APPEAL.  425 

tion  was  not  agreeable  to  him.  Indeed,  it  was  as  distinctly  dis- 
agreeable as  any  thing  could  possibly  have  been  conceived.  Yet 
what  was  to  be  done  ?  He  had  exhausted  the  forcible  negatives 
of  the  language  in  expressing  his  refusal,  and  he  found  that  re- 
fusal altogether  unheeded.  It  was  true  that,  however  determined 
Madeleine  might  be  to  give,  she  could  not  force  him  to  accept ; 
but  it  was  the  giving  which  disturbed  him,  it  was  her  persisting 
in  casting  away  an  estate  which  would  secure  to  her  all  that  ease 
and  power  of  wealth  which  the  man  of  the  world  fully  appre- 
ciated. Nerved  at  last  by  desperation,  he  went  once  more  to 
appeal  to  her. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   LAST   APPEAL. 

"  Miss  Madeleine's  not  at  home,  Mr.  Devereux,"  said  Ann, 
answering  the  door-bell,  scrubbing-brush  in  hand — for  she  had 
been  polishing  the  hall-floor  with  wax. 

"  Not  at  home ! "  repeated  Devereux — looking  as  he  felt,  a 
little  blank.     "  Do  you  know  when  she  will  be  at  home  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't,"  Ann  answered.  "  She  went  out  into  the 
woods  'bout  an  hour  ago,  and  she  don't  often  come  home  till  dark 
when  she  goes  there." 

"  Did  she  go  alone  ?  "  asked  Devereux,  into  whose  mind  an 
idea  flashed  like  an  inspiration. 

"  There  wasn't  anybody  with  her  but  Lance,"  replied  Ann. 
Then,  with  a  sj'mpathetic  intuition  which  did  her  credit,  she 
pointed  over  her  shoulder,  "  Miss  Madeleine  went  that  way," 
she  said,  "  across  the  fields  tow'rds  Crag's  Hill." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Devereux,  gratefully.  He  put  out  his  hand, 
with  something  in  it  which  raised  him  very  high  in  Ann's  esti- 
mation. While  she  dropped  a  courtesy  and  uttered  her  thanks, 
he  turned,  passed  quickly  down  the  walk,  and  out  of  the  gate. 
A  sudden  sense  of  elasticity  came  to  him — the  first  he  had  felt 


426  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

since  Mary's  death.  It  may  have  been  the  bright  warmth  and 
sweetness  of  the  spring-like  afternoon,  or  it  may  have  been — 
and  this  was  more  likeh^ — that  he  was  going  to  see  Madeleine 
alone,  out  in  the  great  expanse  and  freedom  of  Nature,  instead 
of  within  the  formal  walls  of  a  room.  That  any  thing  pleasant 
could  be  the  result  of  this  interview  was,  of  course,  not  to  be 
expected — he  told  himself,  as  if  rebuking  his  own  levity,  that 
such  a  thing  was  impossible — yet,  nevertheless,  he  felt  that 
to  see  her  was  pleasant,  let  other  circumstances  be  wdiat  they 
might. 

The  road  which  he  followed  to  Crag's  Hill  was  a  little  longer 
than  that  short  cut  "  across  the  fields  "  of  which  Ann  had  spoken, 
but  he  walked  briskly  down  a  street,  past  scattered  suburban 
houses,  through  a  lane,  and  so  out  into  the  stillness  and  pleas- 
antness of  absolute  "  country."  Along  the  valley,  where  Made- 
eleine  had  met  Lacy,  and  heard  the  news  of  Mary's  will,  he  went, 
noting,  yet  scarcely  heeding,  the  mellow  sunlight  spreading  the 
ridges  with  gold,  and  the  wafts  of  spicy  fragrance  from  the  pines 
growing  along  the  uplands,  and  standing,  like  Titan  spears, 
against  the  sky.  Around  the  base  of  Crag's  Hill  the  valley  made 
a  bend,  and  he  passed  around  this  before  he  saw,  perched  on  the 
high  western  slope  of  the  hill,  a  figure  clad  in  black,  with  a  leo- 
nine dog  for  companion. 

With  a  sense  of  satisfaction  he  proceeded  immediately  to 
mount  the  ascent,  which  was  rather  steep.  Lance  heard  him 
breaking  through  the  undergrowth  before  Madeleine,  in  her  ab- 
straction, noticed  any  thing,  and  with  a  low,  menacing  growl, 
that  faithful  sentinel  darted  away.  "  Lance  !  "  cried  Madeleine, 
afraid  that  he  might  harm  or  frighten  some  one — but,  all  in  a 
moment,  Lance's  growl  turned  to  a  whine  of  delight,  and  a  few 
seconds  later  he  darted  back  to  his  mistress's  side,  followed  by 
a  figure  that  Madeleine  at  first  did  not  recognize.  Then,  with 
surprise,  she  said : 

"  Mr.  Devereux  !     Is  it  possible  this  is  you  ?  " 
There  was  an  air  of  coolness  as  well  as  surprise  in  her  tone, 
which  made  Devereux  feel  as  if  he  had  presumed.    He  lifted  his 


THE   LAST  APPEAL.  427 

hat  with  an  air  of  deprecation.  "  It  is  I,  Miss  Severn,"  he  said. 
"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for  venturing*  to  follow  you,  but 
I  wished  particularly  to  see  you,  and  I  heard  that  you  came  this 
way." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  said  Madeleine,  still  a  little 
coolly.  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  should  have  had  the  trouble  of 
the  walk ;  but  if  you  have  any  thing  special  to  say — " 

"  I  liked  the  walk,"  said  he,  almost  humbly.  "  The  afternoon 
is  beautiful,  and,  since  I  am  going  away  so  soon,  I  did  not  like 
to  lose  an  opportunity  of  seeing  you.     May  I  sit  down  ?  " 

"  Surely,  yes,"  she  replied,  smiling  slightly.  "There  is  little 
choice  of  a  seat — but  I  should  have  asked  you  to  sit  down.  I 
forgot  that  this  hill-side  is,  in  a  measure,  my  castle.  It  is  a 
favorite  haunt  of  ours — is  it  not.  Lance  ?  " 

Lance,  hearing  his  name,  beat  his  plumy  tail  on  the  ground 
assentingly,  while  Devereux,  disregarding  the  attractions  of  a 
rock  and  a  stump,  threw  himself  carelessly  down  on  the  short, 
dry  grass  that  covered  the  hill.  Having  done  so,  he  saw  at 
once  why  Madeleine  liked  the  spot.  The  view  was  far-reaching 
and  beautiful,  with  that  softness  of  a  rolling  country  which,  with- 
out the  grandeur  of  a  mountain-region,  has  its  own  attraction  to 
the  eyes  of  those  who  love  Nature  in  all  her  phases.  The  vallej^, 
with  its  glancing  stream,  was  at  their  feet ;  beyond,  the  ground 
rose  in  undulating  swell,  cultivated  toward  the  west,  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach ;  on  the  crest  of  a  distant  hill,  where  one  or  two 
tall  trees  stood  outlined  against  the  sky  like  the  masts  of  ships 
at  sea,  some  cattle  were  slowly  moving,  thrown  into  relief  by 
the  golden  light  of  evening  behind  them.  As  the  glance  swept 
round  the  great  circle  of  the  horizon,  to  the  north  belts  of  blue 
forest  stretched  behind  the  level  fields,  while  in  the  east  rose  a 
chain  of  wooded  heights  of  which  Crag's  Hill  was  the  chief,  and 
which  formed  part  of  the  ridge  on  which  Stansbury  was  built. 
There  was  a  sense  of  great  expanse  and  wide  freedom  in  the 
scene,  as  it  melted  away  on  all  sides  into  misty  distance.  Fresh 
sweet  winds  came  out  of  the  west,  where  the  sun  was  sinking 
in  a  tender,  lucid  sky,  with  floating  masses  of  vapor  above 


428  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  There  is  something  in  the  effect  of  this  view — particularly 
toward  the  west — which  reminds  me  of  the  ocean,"  said  Deve- 
reux. 

"  I  have  often  thought  so,"  said  Madeleine.  "  I  like  to 
come  here.  It  is  almost  like  going  into  a  church — it  calms  one, 
and  makes  one  feel-the  littleness  of  life,  and  particularly  of  one's 
affairs  in  life.  That  is  a  good  thing  to  feel  at  all  times — not  only 
from  a  Christian  but  from  a  philosoj^hical  point  of  view." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Devereux,  who  was  not  averse  to 
.  prefacing  what  he  had  to  say  by  a  little  discursive  conversation. 
"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  agree  with  you.  Such  reflections  may 
be  necessary  for  some  people,  but  I  am  obliged  to  spur  myself 
to  action  by  exactly  contrary  thoughts.  If  I  pause  to  consider 
of  how  little  real  importance  any  thing  is — at  least,  how  few 
things  which  make  up  the  sum  of  life  have  any  meaning  which 
is  not  trivial — I  become  hopelessly  indifferent ;  and  J.ndifference 
has  already  been  the  bane  of  my  life." 

"  We  are  not  speaking  of  the  same  thing,"  said  Madeleine. 
"  I  think  I  know  the  frame  of  mind  to  which  you  allude ;  but 
that  was  not  what  I  meant.  Are  you  never  distressed  or  an- 
noyed ?  If  so,  you  would  know  the  comfort  of  coming  here 
where  the  great  bending  sky  seems  to  dwarf  one's  trouble,  and 
one  feels,  as  Solomon  said  to  the  Eastern  prince,  '  This,  too, 
will  pass  away.'  " 

"  Most  things  pass  away,"  said  Devereux,  reflectivelj^  "  but 
some  of  them  cause  a  great  deal  of  annoyance  before  they  go. 
Miss  Severn,  I  wish  I  could  make  you  comprehend  how  much 
unnecessary  trouble  you  are  now  giving  yourself,  every  one  con- 
nected with  you,  and  myself  most,  perhajDS,  of  all,  by  persisting 
in  a  course  which  is — if  you  will  pardon  me — unworthy  of  your 
good  sense." 

"  I  am  sorrj:^,  very  sorrj^,  if  I  am  giving  trouble,"  said 'Made- 
leine, turning  her  soft,  wistful  regard  upon  him.  "  But,  after 
all,  is  it  quite  just  to  say  that  I  am  giving  it  ?  Remember  I 
did  not  place  myself  in  the  position  which  entails  this  course  to 
which  no  doubt  you  allude," 


THE  LAST  APPEAL.  429 

"  But  how  can  any  position  in  which  you  are  placed  possi- 
bly entail  such  a  thing  ?  "  said  Devereux,  impatiently.  A  sud- 
den resolution  came  to  him  of  sounding  the  depth  of  the  mys- 
tery which  puzzled  and  annoyed  him.  "  You  have  never  been 
thoroughly  open  with  me,"  he  said.  "  I  think  you  ought  to  be. 
I  am  sure  there  is  something  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  which  I 
do  not  know — something  w^hich  probably  would  be  all  the  bet- 
ter for  letting  daylight  in  upon  it." 

A  swift  wave  of  color  came  over  her  face.  She  met  his  eyes 
— full,  searching,  direct  in  their  gaze — for  an  instant,  then  turned 
her  own  away.  "You  know  all  that  it  is  essential  for  you  to 
know,"  she  said.     "  I  have  told  you  that  I  am  bound  in  honor." 

"But  how  ?"  asked  Devereux.  He  saw  that  he  had  gained 
an  advantage,  and  pressed  on  eagerly.  "  How  can  you  be  bound 
in  honor  to  perform  a  wdiolly  useless,  and — you  must  excuse  my 
plain  speaking — foolish  act?  What  good  results  to  any  one? 
You  ought  to  know  me  well  enough  to  believe  that  I  shall  never 
touch  this  fortune  which  you  persist  in  nominally  bestowing 
upon  me.  In  a  day  or  two — to-morrow,  perhaps — I  shall  leave 
for  Colorado.  Probably  I  shall  never  come  back.  I  shall  cer- 
tainly never  come  back  to  claim  what  is  not  and  can  never  be 
mine." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  decision  which  filled  the  last 
sentence.  Madeleine's  lips  parted  and  a  faint  sigh  came  through 
them.  "  Poor  Mary  ! "  she  said ;  "  how  hard  it  seems  that  her 
last  wish  should  go  unfulfilled !  She  desired  above  all  things 
that  her  fortune  should  be  yours,  and  yet  you  refuse  to  take  it." 

He  threw  his  head  back  with  a  very  haughty  gesture.  "  Of 
course  I  refuse,"  he  said.  "  I  should  despise  myself — you  would 
despise  me — if  I  did  7iot  refuse.  I  told  Mary,  before  she  made 
her  will,  that  I  could  take  nothing  from  her.  To  discuss  such  a 
question  now  is  perfectly  useless.  The  fortune  is  left  to  you, 
and  it  is  yours." 

"  It  is  not  mine  !  "  said  Madeleine.     "  It  was  left  me  under  a 

false  impression — and  even  if  I  wished  to  retain  it,  I  could  not  * 

honorably  do  so." 

19 


430  A   QUESTION  OF  HOXOR. 

"Under  what  false  impression  was  it  left  to  you?"  asked 
Devereux.  "  Don't  hesitate  to  tell  me.  I  feel  that  I  ought  to 
know." 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  Madeleine.  She  spoke  in  a  low 
voice :  her  color  came  and  went.  Once  she  could  have  faced 
such  an  emergency  with  the  courage  that  so  rarely  deserted 
her,  but  now  she  shrank,  conscious  of  not  being  herself,  sensible 
how  much  she  had  been  shaken  by  all  that  she  had  passed 
through. 

"  Why  can  you  not  tell  me  ?  "  asked  he,  with  the  gentleness 
which  sometimes  made  his  voice  irresistible — a  gentleness  which 
came  from  nature,  not  from  art.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  mis- 
understand any  thing  ?  Do  you  think  I  could  doubt  her — or 
you?" 

His  kindness  overcame  all  her  doubts.  A  sudden  resolution 
— the  wisdom  of  which  she  did  not  pause  to  question — carried 
her  away  on  its  tide.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  unconsciously 
prejoared  for  this,  for  she  had  with  her  the  "  Imitation  "  with 
Mary's  letter  between  its  leaves.  The  book  lay  in  her  lap,  open 
where  she  had  been  reading,  and,  as  she  glanced  down,  her  eyes 
fell  on  these  words : 

"  How  often  have  I  not  found  faithfulness  there,  where  T 
thought  I  might  depend  upon  it ! 

"  And  how  often  have  I  there  found  it  where  I  the  less  ex- 
pected it ! " 

Who  is  not  superstitious  enough  to  sometimes  throw  the 
weight  of  decision  on  such  an  accident  as  this — an  open  book, 
a  sentence  fraught  with  meaning  ?  To  Madeleine,  in  her  per- 
plexity and  doubt,  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice  spoke.  Her  heart  was 
still  sore  with  the  sense  of  having  failed  to  find  faithfulness  there 
where  she  thought  she  might  depend  upon  it.  And  now,  might 
she  not  find  it  here  ? — might  she  not  find  a  friend,  who,  as  he 
said,  would  not  misunderstand  ?  She  hesitated  only  a  moment. 
Then  she  drew  out  the  letter  and  gave  it  to  him. 

"  There !  "  she  said.     "  That  will  tell  vou  all." 

He  took  it,  and  as  he  glanced  dow^n  at  Jessie's  large,  irregu- 


THE   LAST  APPEAL.  431 

liir  handwriting,  a  sudden  instinct — a  quick  apprehension  of  the 
truth — was  borne  to  him.     He  rose  and  walked  away. 

Madeleine  was  glad  of  this,  and  she  thought  again,  as  she  had 
more  than  once  thought  before,  that  wherever  a  delicate  per- 
ception of  w^hat  was  fitting  could  save  a  man  from  a  blunder, 
Devereux  would  be  saved.  That  fine  courtesy  which  is  born  of 
consideration  for  others,  and  perfected  by  social  training,  was 
his  in  preeminent  degree.  She  watched  him  as  he  walked  away, 
and  when  he  paused  at  a  little  distance,  and,  standing  with  his 
back  to  her,  one  shoulder  leaning  against  the  tall,  straight  trunk 
of  a  pine,  began  to  read  the  letter,  she  found  herself  wondering 
at  the  revolution  of  her  own  feeling  with  regard  to  him.  What 
a  little  while  ago  it  seemed  since  she  had  utterly  distrusted  him  ! 
and  now  she  felt  as  sure  of  his  integrity  as  of  her  ow^n  !  She 
had  come  to  expect,  as  a  natural  thing,  kindness  and  considera- 
tion from  him.  To  how  few  men  could  she  have  ventured  to 
show  such  a  letter  as  that  of  Mary's,  sure  that  none  of  the  over- 
weening self-conceit,  which  is  a  more  distinctively  masculine 
than  feminine  failing,  would  come  into  play  !  "  He  will  know 
perfectly  how  we  have  both  been  misunderstood,"  she  said  to 
herself;  but  of  how  few  men  could  she  have  predicated  such  a 
thing  with  any  certainty  ! 

He  was  motionless  a  long  time,  or  what  seemed  a  long  time 
to  her.  He  must  have  read  the  letter  over  twice  or  thrice,  she 
thought.  Meanwhile,  the  sun — a  great  ball  of  fire — sank  slow- 
ly beneath  the  far,  blue  horizon  which  marked  "  the  fine,  faint 
limits  of  the  bounding  day,"  and  after  the  last  fine  of  his  disk 
had  disappeared,  his  rays  of  glory,  shooting  upward,  turned  the 
filmy  vapors  to  islets  of  dazzling  gold  floating  on  a  background 
of  aqua-marine,  which  had  that  peculiar  translucent-  appearance 
that  one  often  sees  in  a  sunset  sky.  Madeleine  tried  to  fasten 
her  attention  on  the  changing  tints,  but  with  very  little  success. 
After  a  minute,  she  looked  again  at  the  figure  leaning  against 
the  pine  ;  and,  as  she  looked,  Devereux  turned  and  came  tow- 
ard her. 

Then  it  was  that  the  delicate  bravery,  the  supreme  reticence 


id2  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

and  pride  of  her  nature,  asserted  itself.  There  was  not  the 
faintest  trace  of  the  flutter  of  self-consciousness  which  an  ordi- 
nary woman  would  have  betrayed  on  such  an  occasion.  Both 
courage  and  high-breeding  came  to  her  assistance,  and  the  vain- 
est man  alive  could  not  have  misconstrued  the  calm  dignity  of 
her  manner.  There  was  no  flush  on  her  pale  face,  no  drooping 
of  the  lids  over  her  steady  eyes.  As  Devereux  reached  her 
side,  she  saw  that  he  had  lost  much  of  his  usual  composure, 
and  therefore  she  spoke  first — very  quietly  : 

"  I  am  sure  you  must  have  been  touched  as  well  as  aston- 
ished by  that  letter.  I  was.  Its  generosity  is  like  Mary ;  its 
mistake  was  no  fault  of  hers.  She  was  blind,  she  could  not  see 
for  herself,  and  she  listened  too  readily  to  a  story  as  absLird  as 
it  was  false.  But  you  understand  now  why  I  cannot  keep  the 
property." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  do  not  understand  any  thing  of  the  kind," 
he  answered.  "  It  is  true  that  Mary  took  too  much  for  granted'; 
but  even  if  she  had  taken  nothing  for  granted,  I  am  sure  that 
she  would  still  have  left  you  all  that  was  hers  to  leave." 

"  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  when  her  own  words  are 
before  you  !  "  exclaimed  Madeleine.  "  She  sa,ys  emphatically 
that  she  leaves  it  to  me  as  a  trust,  not  an  inheritance." 

Devereux  knitted  his  brows  slightly.  "  You  attach  too 
much  importance  to  those  words,"  he  said.  "  You  wrest  them 
from  their  context.  Do  you  not  perceive  that  she  put  them  on 
record  only  because  she  did  not  wish  the  unreserved  possession 
of  this  fortune  to  stand  as  a  barrier  between — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  but  Madeleine  knew  what  words  he 
would  have  uttered  if  he  had  finished  the  sentence,  and  she  was 
angry  with  herself  for  blushing.  Having  been  guilty  of  that 
involuntary  act  of  folly,  she  made  amends  for  it  by  speaking 
very  coldly. 

"  Whatever  Mary  meant,"  she  said,  "  the  fact  remains  that 
she  left  the  fortune  to  me  under  a  grave  mistake ;  and  that  i3 
reason  enough  for  my  not  retaining  it." 

She  looked  at  him  as  she  spoke,  and  something  strange  in 


THE   LAST   APPEAL.  433 

his  eyes — an  expression  almost  impossible  to  define — sent  a 
quick  thrill  of  consternation  over  her.  What  did  it  mean  ? 
She  did  not  stop  to  ask  herself,  but,  acting  on  an  uncontrollable 
impulse,  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  That  is  all,"  she  said.  "  Now,  I  think  we  had  better  go 
home." 

"  It  is  early,"  said  Devereux,  whose  composure  came  back 
as  she  lost  hers.  "  Will  you  not  stay  a  little  longer  ?  I  shall 
not  trouble  you  much  more,  you  know — I  am  going  to  start  for 
Colorado  to-morrow — but  I  have  a  few  words  to  say." 

The  allusion  to  Colorado  was  artfully  introduced.  It  made 
Madeleine  pause.  Indeed,  in  the  quick  reaction  of  sentiment, 
she  was  ashamed  of  herself.     What  folly  had  she  imagined  ? 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  going  ?  "  she  said.  "  Will 
nothing  induce  you  to  stay — at  least  long  enough  to  make  some 
arrangements  aboutr  the  property  ?  " 

"  Good  Heavens,  Miss  Severn  !  "  he  said,  "  are  vou  still  de- 
termined  on  that  ?  Then  you  force  me  to  candor !  Don't 
blame  me  more  than  you  can  help  when  I  tell  you  thut  what 
you  consider  a  mistake  on  Mary's  part  was  not  a  mistake  at  all, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  She  speaks  in  this  letter  of  my  love 
for  you  as  something  of  which  she  was  sure.  She  had  reason 
to  be  sure  of  it.  Do  you  remember  our  long  interview  before 
she  made  her  will  ?  She  asked  me  then  if  I  did  not  love  you, 
and  I — to  whom  the  revelation  was  new,  but  strong — could  not 
deny  the  truth." 

"  Mr.  Devereux  !  "  said  Madeleine.  The  ejaculation  was  an 
absolute  gasp.  At  that  moment  there  was  room  for  nothing 
but  amazement  in  her  mind.  Mary's  letter  itself  had  not  been 
a  greater  shock  than  this  most  unexpected  declaration.  She 
retreated  a  step  and  gazed  at  the  speaker  with  incredulous  as- 
tonishment. He  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  go  on.  There 
was  no  want  of  self-possession  in  his  manner  now.  It  was 
that  of  one  from  whom  a  load  of  silence  had  been  lifted. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  he  said.  "  How  could  I  help 
telling  you  ?      How  could  I  let  vou   continue  to   think    that 


i34  A   QUESTION   OF   UONOR. 

it  was  all  a  mistake.  Any  other  woman  would  have  known, 
but  you  never  seem  to  think  of  yourself,  and  so  you  did  not 
know." 

Then  Madeleine  found  words.  Amazement  suddenly  swept 
into  indignation.  She  turned  on  him  with  such  a  blaze  of  pas- 
sionate resentment  in  her  soft,  brown  ej^es,  as  no  one  had  ever 
seen  there  before. 

"  If  this  is  true,"  she  said,  "  if  you  are  not  merely  playing 
on  my  credulity,  how  can  I  answer  you  ? — how  can  I  tell  you 
with  sufficient  force  that  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  me  to 
suspect  you  of  such  cruel  dishonor  if  you  had  not  borne  testi- 
mony against  yourself  ?  " 

The  trenchant  words  cut  the  deeper  for  their  unexpected- 
ness. A  flush  rose  to  his  brow,  but  his  eyes  met  hers  steadily. 
"I  do  not  think  j^ou  have  considered,"  he  said;  "I  do  not 
think  you  understand.  My  conscience  does  not  accuse  me  of 
either  dishonor  or  cruelty." 

"  Your  conscience  must  be  a  verv  callous  one,"  said  Made- 
leine,  to  whom,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  a  power  of  uttering 
bitter  words  came.     "  To  be  false  to  Mary  in  your  heart,  and 
then  to  tell  her  on  her  death-bed — oh,  I  could  not  have  believed 
it !     I  could  not  have  thouo-ht  that  any  one  would  be  so  cruel 
and  so  base !     My  poor,  poor  Mary  !     To  think  that  she  did  not 
even  die  in  ignorance  of  how  she  had  wasted  her  love  and  faith  !  " 
She  turned  and  walked  away  from  him  in  an  agony  of  tears. 
It  seemed  more  thaii  she  could  bear.     That  Mary's  heart — the 
truth,  the  tenderness,  the  trust  of  which  no  one  knew  so  well  as 
herself — should  have  been  stabbed  by  such  a  revelation  at  the 
very  last,  was  as  keen  a  sorrow  to  Madeleine  as  she  had  ever 
been  called  upon  to  endure.    And  Mary  had  gone  away  believing 
her  faithless  !    This  edo-ed  the  bitterness  twofold.    No  consolinsr 
reflection  came  to  her  that  perhaps  Mary  knew  better  now  in 
that  clear  light  of  eternit}^  which  (we  hope)  solves  man}''  a  riddle 
of  time.     All  she  felt  was  the  human  sense  of  intolerable  pain — 
pain  for  the  tender  heart  that  had  been  wounded ;  pain  for  hav- 
ing been  misunderstood ;  pain  most  of  all  that  no  word  of  expla- 


THE  LAST  APPEAL.  435 

nation  could  now  break  the  great  gulf  of  silence  between  the 
living  and  the  dead.  Not  far  from  wdiere  she  had  been  sitting 
a  fence  ran,  dividing  the  hill.  She  walked  up  to  this,  and,  lean- 
ing her  face  down  on  the  top  rail,  sobbed  like  a  child. 

As  for  Devereux,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  was 
appalled  by  the  effect  of  his  revelation.  He  was  accustomed  to 
seeing  Madeleine  so  calm  and  self-controlled,  that  this  burst  of 
anger  and  grief  amazed  him  inexpressibly.  He  was  more  than 
amazed;  he  was  deeply  concerned,  and,  after  reflecting  for  a 
minute  wdiat  was  best  to  do,  he  walked  quietly  up  to  her. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  to  pardon  me  for  paining  you  so  much," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  for  I  am  sure  3'ou  cannot  do  so  yet — 
you  do  not  understand.  But  I  appeal  to  your  sense  of  justice 
not  to  judge  me  too  hardly  before  you  have  heard  my  story.  I 
know  you  do  not  feel  able  to  hear  it  now,  and  I — perhaps  I  could 
not  tell  it  as  it  should  be  told.  But  may  I  iGvite  it  ?  If  I  send 
you  a  letter  will  you  read  it  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  asked  Madeleine,  speaking  with  a  great 
effort,  and  keeping  her  face  turned  away.  "  You  are  right.  I 
cannot  forgive  you  for  darkening  the  last  hours  of — of — " 

Her  voice  trembled,  faltered,  broke  down — but  he  knew  what 
she  would  have  said.  He  answered  gently — almost  humbly :  "  I 
do  not  ask  you  to  forgive  me  until  you  know  all.  Will  you  not 
reserve  your  judgment  for  a  little  while  ?  I  shall  send  you  the 
letter  to-morrow,  and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  read  it.  You  are 
too  kind,  as  w^ell  as  too  just,  not  to  do  so.  Now  I  will  go.  I 
am  sure  vou  would  rather  walk  home  alone." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Madeleine.  She  spoke  involuntarily, 
feeling  that,  let  him  be  what  else  he  might,  it  was  impossible  to 
deny  his  consideration — impossible  not  to  be  grateful  for  it. 
She  heard  him  pass  away  from  her  side,  speak  to  Lance,  and 
then  £'0  down  the  hill.  When  she  lifted  her  face  at  last  she  was 
alone,  and  the  divine  flush  of  sunset  had  lighted  up  the  whole 
sky  with  rose  and  opal  beauty.  Even  in  the  east  the  tender 
radiance  tinged  all  the  bending  arch,  while  the  reflected  glory 
fell  over  the  great  dumb  face  of  Nature  like  a  smile  from  God. 


t36  A   QUESTION   OF   IIONOH. 

CHAPTER   YIL 

DEVEREUX   TELLS    HIS    STORY. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  At  seven  o'clock,  Madeleine 
went  out  to  church,  and  when  she  returned  home,  breakfast  was 
on  the  table.  As  she  sat  down,  she  saw  that  the  mail  had  been 
brought  from  the  office.  Two  or  three  letters  lay  by  her  plate, 
at  which  she  glanced  listlessly,  until  on  one  she  recognized,  with 
a  start,  Devereux's  writing.  She  could  not  help  wondering  if 
any  one  else  had  noticed  it,  and  instinctively  she  glanced  at 
Basil.  He  was  dividing  his  attention  between  his  breakfast- 
plate  and  a  newspaiDer,  and  did  not  look  up.  If  he  had  observed 
it,  he  made  no  sign  to  that  effect.  This  was  like  Basil,  how- 
ever, and  was  no  proof  of  a  want  of  observation.  Mrs.  Severn 
was  deep  in  her  own  correspondence,  so  with  a  sense  of  relief 
Madeleine  slipped  the  letter  into  her  pocket,  to  be  read  when 
she  was  alone. 

This  was  not  until  some  time  after  breakfast.  Church-bells 
were  beginning  to  peal  out  in  chiming  chorus  on  the  air,  when 
she  sat  down  by  the  ivy-encircled  window  in  her  room  (which 
had  once  been  Rosalind's)  to  read  the  letter.  Her  pulses  quick- 
ened a  little,  with  a  vague  sense  of  excitement  and  curiosity,  as 
she  did  so.  What  would  he  have  to  say  ?  How  could  he  clear 
himself  of  the  charge  of  dishonor  ?  In  all  this  Madeleine 
scarcely  thought  of  herself.  It  did  not  occur  to  her,  as  it  would 
have  occurred  to  many  women,  to  excuse  Devereux  because  he 
professed  to  love  her.  On  the  contrary,  such  a  plea  steeled  her 
heart  the  more  against  him.  To  make  her  accessory,  as  it  were, 
to  betraying  Mary's  faith  and  wounding  Mary's  love — she  felt 
that  she  could  forgive  any  thing  sooner  than  that.  It  was  in  this 
frame  of  mind  that  she  unfolded  the  letter  and  began  to  read. 

"  In  addressing  you,"  Devereux  wrote,  ''  I  will  not  picture 
you  to  myself  as  I  left  3'ou  this  evening — paiifed,  indignant,  with 
averted  face,  and  all  the  friendly  regard  which  I  have  won  by 


DEVEREUX   TELLS   lilS   STORY.  437 

slow  degrees  and  vi'itli  so  much  difficulty,  estranged  from  me. 
If  I  thought  of  jou  in  that  way,  I  should  hardly  be  able  to  write 
at  all.  I  must  of  necessity  address  one  whom  I  know  better — 
one  in  whose  eyes  kindness  and  tenderness  dwell,  on  whose  lips 
gentleness  reigns  supreme,  and  in  whose  heart  even  those  who 
have  erred  may  hope  to  find  comprehension,  charity,  and  justice. 
I  think  you  will  pardon  me  for  this,  and  therefore  it  is  to  that 
gentle  presence  that  my  story  shall  be  told. 

"  I  do  not  know  when  I  began  to  love  you.  Looking  back  I 
endeavor  vainly  to  tell.  The  sentiment  was  so  subtile,  and  its 
growth  so  gradual,  that  the  idea  of  analyzing  it,  the  idea  of 
anticipating  what  it  might  become,  never  occurred  to  me.  I  had 
played  with  edged  tools  so  long  with  perfect  impunity  that  I 
did  not  fear  receiving  a  wound  at  last.  I  had  amused  myself 
with  the  counterfeits  of  love,  until  I  lost  all  power  of  recognizing 
the  divine  original,  and  lost  also,  perhaps,  all  faith  in  its  exist- 
ence. My  suspicions  were  disarmed  by  the  manner  in  which 
your  attraction  stole  upon  me.  A  fever-fit  of  captivated  fancy 
would  have  been  perfectly  familiar  to  me — but  how  could  I  tell 
what  heavenly  spirit  was  coming  with  shy  sweet  steps  to 
brighten  the  earth  for  me  by  lodging  in  my  heart  ? 

"  Does  this  sound  to»you  strained  and  unreal  ?  I  hope  not, 
for  I  count  much  on  your  sympathy — by  which  I  mean  that  gift 
of  comprehending  the  moods  and  thoughts  of  others,  which  is 
one  of  your  greatest  attractions.  Try  to  throw  yourself  into  my 
thoughts  :  try  to  realize  how  all  that  was  best  and  subtilest  in 
my  nature  answered  to  your  touch,  as  a  violin  thrills  under  a 
master's  fingers — and  yet  how  it  chanced  that  I  gave  to  the 
spell  every  name  but  the  right  one.  I  said  to  myself  that  you 
charmed  my  fancy,  that  you  satisfied  my  taste,  that  you  were 
the  most  sympathetic  of  companions,  the  most  unselfish  of 
friends  ;  but  I  did  not  say  that  I  loved  you,  until  the  truth  rose 
up  suddenly  and  stared  me  in  the  face. 

*'  It  was  on  the  night  of  that  ball  which  neither  of  us  is  ever 
iikely  to  forget,  when  we  were  sitting  in  the  library — do  you  re- 
member ?    Then  I  felt  with  the  force  of  an  absolute  revelation,  and 


438  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

with  a  greater  sense  of  dismay  than  I  can  hope  to  make  plain  to 
you,  that  the  strange  sentiment  which  had  changed  the  aspect 
of  every  thing  for  me  w\as  love.  That  I  was  dismayed  will  not 
surprise  you.  A  hopeless  passion  may  amuse  a  boy,  but  it  can 
only  prove  the  misery  of  a  man.  You  will  say  that  a  man  need 
not  suffer  from  a  hopeless  passion  if  he  chooses  to  be  his  own 
master.  Granted.  But  think  of  the  struggle  which  the  asser- 
tion of  mastery  entails !  To  those  w^ho  fight  bravely,  victory 
generally  comes  at  last ;  but  a  life-and-death  combat  is  a  thing 
from  which  the  bravest  might  shrink. 

"  Probably  you  have  forgotten  all  that  we  said  that  night. 
Zhave  not  forgotten  one  word — I  do  not  think  I  ever  shall — but 
to  recall  to  your  memory  all  that  passed,  would  tax  too  greatly 
the  patience  and  kindness  on  which  I  rely.  I  did  not  betray 
myself  to  you,  for  you  suspected  nothing,  but  I  betrayed  mj'self 
to  one  whose  ears  were  more  acute  because  her  eyes  were  blind. 
Mary  came  to  the  door  of  the  library,  paused  there  for  a  few 
minutes  unnoticed,  heard  what  was  said,  and  then  passed  away. 

"  What  followed  you  know.  I  cannot  relate,  I  can  scarcely 
even  in  my  thoughts  venture  to  dwell  upon,  her  great  tenderness 
and  gentleness  when  she  sent  for  me.  One  thing,  however,  I 
must  say  in  self-defense — in  order  to  prove  that  I  was  not  guilty 
of  the  cruelty  of  which  this  evening  jou  seemed  to  think  me 
capable.  She  asked  no  questions,  she  simply  said,  '  I  know  the 
truth  ! ' — and  how  could  I  deny  it,  even  if  denial  would  have 
brought  conviction  to  her,  which  I  doubt  ?  She  seemed  like  one 
who  had  already  left  the  passions  of  earth  behind — a  calm  had 
come  to  her  which  no  emotion  had  power  to  break.  That  I  have 
suffered  keenly  from  the  thought  that  such  a  knowledge  should 
have  cast  a  shadow  over  her  last  hours,  you  will  believe — yet  I 
cannot  clearly  see  in  what  manner  to  blame  myself.  I  can  hear 
you  say,  with  your  eyes  shining  like  stars,  that  honor  should 
have  kept  my  heart  loyal  to  Mary.  Alas !  the  truth  must  be 
written,  and  you  must  forgive  it  as  well  as  3'ou  can — in  the 
sense  of  supreme  love,  my  heart  never  was  given  to  Mary. 
Tenderness,  kindness,  pity,  all  these  I  felt  for  her — but  not  love. 


DEVEKEUX  TELLS   HIS  STORY.  439 

"  I  do  not  fear  from  you  any  harsh  judgment  on  this  con- 
fession. Y^ou  know  better  than  to  believe  that  any  mercenary 
motive  made  me  seek  that  place  in  her  heart  which  it  is  now 
my  punishment  to  have  won.  The  subject  is  too  complex  to  be 
dealt  with  here.  Many  things  influenced  me.  O  gentle  sym- 
pathy, to  which  I  find  myself  appealing  as  I  write,  am  I  wrong 
in  thinking  that  you  feel  what  some  of  them  were  ? 

"Now  do  you  understand  why  that  letter  was  written  to 
which  you  have  given  infinitely  more  importance  than  properly 
belongs  to  it  ?  If  I  had  not  betrayed  myself  when  we  were 
sitting  in  the  librarj-,  it  would  never  have  been  written,  and 
Mary  would  have  left  her  fortune  to  you  unreservedly.  It  fol- 
loAVS,  therefore,  that  if  you  persist  in  the  course  upon  which 
you  were  determined  when  we  parted  this  evening,  I  shall  go 
away  feeling  that  I  am  accountable  for  your  having  impover- 
ished yourself.  Whether  or  not  this  consciousness  will  greatly 
add  to  my  happiness,  you  can  judge. 

"  May  I  hope  to  see  you  once  more  and  hear  your  final  deci- 
sion from  you  own  lips  ?  I  shall  leave  Stansbury  to-morrow 
night.  Before  I  go,  will  you  grant  me  an  interview  ?  You  may 
trust  me  to  say  nothing  to  offend  or  pain  you.  Over  the  con- 
tents of  these  pages  I  beg  you  to  draw  the  kind  mantle  of  your 
charity,  and  to  believe  me  always 

"  Your  faithful  friend  and  servant, 

"Aexold  Devekeux." 

The  faint  color  which  came  into  Madeleine's  cheeks  as  she 
began  this  letter  had  increased  to  a  scarlet  flame  by  the  time 
she  finished  and  laid  it  down. 

"  Is  he  mad  ?  "  she  said,  half  aloud.  "  What  does  he  mean, 
and  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

The  last  question  was  harder  to  answer  than  the  first.  What 
he  meant  w^as  sufficiently  plain  ;  but  what  she  was  to  do  was 
not  so  easy  to  tell.  She  could  not  but  feel  that  the  difficulties 
and  perplexities  of  her  position  were  increased  tenfold.  In  her 
distress  and  doubt  she  wrung  her  hands  tightly  together  as  they 


ilO  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

lay  in  her  lap.  An  overpowering  sense  of  indignation  against 
Devereux  filled  her  heart.  It  was  all  his  fault !  That  was  what 
she  thought.  It  had  been  an  evil  day  when  he  came  to  Stans- 
bury,  to  wreck  the  lives  and  disturb  the  peace  of  people  with 
whom  he  had  no  concern,  by  his  idle  fancies ! 

Poor  Madeleine  was  scarcely  to  blame  for  these  thoughts, 
unjust  as,  in  a  measure,  they  were.  It  is  hard  to  see  the  whole 
meaning  of  our  lives  altered,  our  most  cherished  hopes  brought 
to  naught,  by  the  gravest  blows  of  Fate :  how  much  harder, 
then,  when  they  seem  the  sport  of  trifles  fit  only  for  contempt ! 
This  was  the  light  in  which  she  regarded  Devereux's  declara- 
tion, being  overwrought,  strangely  impatient,  and  disposed  to 
take  an  extreme  view  of  things.  Certainly  he  had  not  found 
the  gentleness,  sj^mpathy,  and  justice,  to  which  he  appealed. 

Presently  the  bells  clashed  out  again  on  the  air,  and,  rising 
with  a  slight  sigh,  she  walked  to  the  mirror  to  put  on  her  bon- 
net. She  could  not  stay  at  home  as  she  felt  inclined  to  do, 
because  she  w^as  organist,  and  no  one  could  fill  her  place.  She 
must  go  ;  but  first  she  must  write  a  note  to  Devereux.  What 
should  she  say  ?  The  idea  of  seeing  him  was  disagreeable  to 
her,  yet  she  shrank  from  refusing  so  slight  a  favor  when  he  was 
going  so  far  away.  In  her  irresolution  she  glanced  into  the 
mirror,  and  the  sight  of  the  heavy  crape  she  wore  for  Mary 
added  to  her  repugnance  to  discuss  any  further  the  subject  of  his 
letter. 

"  He  does  not  even  think  of  the  decencies  of  life,"  she  said 
to  herself,  bitterly.  "  How  short  a  time  it  has  been  since  Mary 
died  in  his  arms  ;  yet  he  does  not  pay  her  memory  the  respect 
of  seeming  constancy  !     No ;  I  cannot  see  him  !  " 

In  this  mood  she  went  to  church ;  but  it  is  pleasant  to  record 
that  she  came  away  more  like  herself.  On  her  knees  in  the 
sanctuary  she  had  formed  a  resolution,  and,  reaching  home,  her 
first  act  was  to  write  a  note  to  Devereux.  It  contained  only 
two  lines : 

"I  will  see  you  after  vespers.  Can  you  meet  me  at  the 
church-door  at  five  o'clock  ?  M.  S." 


DEVEREUX  TEI-LS  HIS  STORY.  441 

"  There  will  be  no  answer,"  Madeleine  said  to  her  messen- 
ger when  she  gave  him  this  missive  to  take  to  the  hotel  where 
Devereux  lodged.  Notwithstanding  that  direction,  he  brought 
an  answer  when  he  returned  : 

"I  am  very  grateful  for  your  kindness,  and  shall  certainly  be 
there.  A.  D." 

Vespers  were  nearly  over,  and  a  small  ac-olyte  was  light- 
ing the  candles  on  the  altar  for  benediction,  when  Devereux 
entered  the  church  and  sat  down  near  the  door.  The  rich,  full 
notes  of  the  organ  were  rolling  out  under  the  touch  of  fingers 
that  knew  how  to  draw  forth  all  the  magic  of  the  keys  ;  the 
choir — well  trained,  though  few — were  chanting  the  beautiful 
Latin  anthem ;  the  lights  flashed  out  like  stars  over  the  face  of 
the  altar,  and  the  people  scattered  about  the  chapel  dropped 
through  their  fingers  the  last  beads  of  their  rosaries.  After  a 
while  the  voices  ceased,  and  only  the  organ  still  rolled  forth  its 
splendid  tones.  Then  the  door  of  the  tabernacle  was  opened  ; 
the  congregation  sank  upon  their  knees  ;  the  monstrance,  flash- 
ing in  the  light  of  the  tapers,  was  lifted  up,  and  the  choir  burst 
into  the  magnificent  "  O  Salutaris  Hostia  ! " 

Before  long  all  was  over,  the  benediction  given,  the  "  Tan- 
tum  Ergo"  sung  with  a  pathos  and  sweetness  that  might  have 
touched  any  listener,  the  organ  sobbing  out  its  undertone  ;  the 
golden-robed  priest  left  the  sanctuary  ;  the  starry  lights  were 
extinguished;  the  people  began  to  depart.  The  choir  came 
down  in  a  band  and  went  out.  As  they  paused  a  moment  in  the 
vestibule,  Devereux  heard  one  of  them  say : 

*'  How  we  miss  Gordon  Lacy  !  Of  course  he  only  came  to 
oblige  Madeleine  ;  but  didn't  he  sing  charmingly  !  " 

A  few  minutes  later  Madeleine  herself  came  down  the  steep, 
dark  staircase  which  led  to  the  organ-loft,  and  found  a  cavalier 
waiting  for  her  just  inside  the  arched  doorway.  He  was  a  cava- 
lier fitted  by  nature  to  please  any  woman's  vanity  and  touch  any 
woman's  heart  ;  but  neither  Madeleine's  vanity  nor  her  heart 
was  just  then  in  a  condition  to  be  touched.     He  thought  that 


i42  A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

she  looked  like  a  fair,  cold  statue  as  she  advanced  out  of  the 
_2,-loom  toward  him,  her  black  draperies  sweeping  round  her. 
This  was  a  mere  fancy,  however,  for  although  she  looked  pale — 
as  was  now  habitual  with  her — there  was  nothing  statue-like  in 
her  appearance,  while  her  manner  had  all  its  usual  gentle  sim- 
plicity when  she  spoke  to  him. 

*'  Thank  j^ou  for  being  so  punctual.  I  considered,  after  my 
note  was  sent,  that  you  might  think  it  strange  that  I  should 
have  asked  you  to  meet  me  here  ;  but  at  home  we  should  have 
been  sure  to  be  interrupted,  and  then — do  you  not  feel  some- 
times more  able  to  talk  in  the  open  air  ?  " 

"  I  feel  so  now^,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  felt  so  yesterday  afternoon 
when  I  followed  you  to  Crag's  Hill.  Shall  we  go  there  again  ? 
Is  the  walk  too  long  for  you  ?     Perhaps  you  are  tired." 

"  I  am  rarely  too  tired  to  walk — it  is  a  relief  to  me,"  she 
answered.     "Yes,  we  will  go  there." 

So  they  set  forth  for  Crag's  Hill,  meeting  few  people  on  the 
quiet  streets,  for  the  other  churches  were  "  not  yet  out."  Yet 
it  was  a  relief  to  both  when  the  streets  were  left  behind,  and 
they  found  themselves  in  the  woods,  where 

"  In  the  deep  heart  of  every  forest-tree 

The  blood  is  all  aglee, 
And  there's  a  look  about  the  leafless  bowers 
As  if  they  dreamed  of  flowers." 

Who  does  not  know  that  look,  when  spring  is  in  the  air — 
yet  who  but  a  poet  would  have  dreamed  of  expressing  it  ? 

Spring  was  certainly  in  the  air  on  this  fair  "  day  of  God." 
Her  buoyant  warmth  was  in  the  golden  sunshine,  her  delicate 
purple  mist  over  the  distant  hills.  Every  one  wore  a  knot  of 
violets  or  a  few  fragrant  white  hyacinths.  Madeleine  had  not 
gathered  any  for  herself,  but  a  little  child  had  offered  her  some 
when  she  was  entering  the  church,  and  they  lay  now  on  her 
breast,  their  faint  perfume  exhaling  on  the  air  as  she  moved. 

There  was  a  sense  of  constraint  between  Devereux  and  her- 
self, though  both  were  too  well-bred  for  this  to  be  outwardly 


DEVEREUX  TELLS   HIS   STORY.  443 

apparent.  An  observant  listener  (if  such  a  person  had  been 
following  them)  would  have  drawn  the  inference  principally 
from  the  fact  that  their  conversation  did  not  languish  at  all.  It 
may  be  taken  as  an  invariable  rule  that,  when  people  are 
thoroughly  at  ease  with  each  other,  they  are  not  afraid  of  being 
silent  together. 

As  they  passed  the  Severn  house,  Lance  had  joined  them 
without  waiting  for  the  formality  of  an  invitation  ;  therefore  it 
was  the  same  group  as  on  the  preceding  evening  which  was  to 
be  seen  after  a  little  while  on  the  crest  of  Crag's  Hill.  A  child 
passing  along  the  road,  on  a  horse  behind  his  father,  pointed 
them  out,  exclaiming  in  a  shrill  treble,  ""  Oh,  look  papa  ! — a 
lady  and  a  gentleman,  and  such  a  big  dog  !  " 

"  It's  Mr.  Severn's  dog,'"*  said  the  father,  turning  his  glance 
in  that  direction.  Then  he  added,  "  By  George  !  "  The  lady 
in  black  could  only  be  Madeleine,  and  Devereux's  tall,  graceful 
figure  was  unmistakable.  Everybody  in  Stansbury  was  deeply 
interested  in  those  two,  and  this  acute  observer  felt  that  he  was, 
in  information,  a  point  or  two  ahead  of  his  neighbors. 

The  lady,  meanwhile,  was  rather  tired  when  she  gained  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  and  sat  down  on  her  usual  seat  to  rest.  For 
the  first  time  silence  fell  between  the  two — silence  which  Deve- 
reux  presentl}^  broke : 

"How  glad  I  am  that  I  came  here!"  he  said,  abruptly. 
"  How  I  shall  think  of  this  scene  when  I  am  far  away  !  Next 
Sunday,  perhaps,  I  may  be  looking  at  the  Rocky  Mountains — 
but  I  shall  never  forget  these  liills." 

"  I  fear  they  will  not  bear  comparison  with  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains," said  Madeleine,  smiling.  "  I  love  this  scene  very  much, 
but  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  it  is  what  one  from  a  bolder  coun- 
try would  call  tame." 

"  That  does  not  matter,"  said  Devereux.  "  The  beauty  of  a 
scene  rests  in  the  sentiment  with  which  we  clothe  it — at  least 
very  often  it  does." 

"Certainly  the  beauty  which  the  present  scene  possesses 
must  principally  rest  in  that,"  said  Madeleine. 


i44  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

After  this,  silence  fell  again.  The  eyes  of  both  wandered  to 
the  horizon  which  bounded  them  on  all  sides  like  a  mighty  am- 
phitheatre. How  soft  the  air  was  I — how  faint  yet  perceptible 
the  odor  of  growing  things  from  the  valley  below ! — what  a 
pearly  sky  arched  overhead  ! — and  what  a  delicate  drapery  of 
mist  hung  over  the  distant,  leafless  forests  !  Devereux  thought 
that  it  was  a  picture  worth  carrying  even  to  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. Then  he  glanced  at  his  companion.  Should  he  ever 
forget  that  sweet  yet  noble  face,  with  its  sensitive  lips,  and  eyes 
of  tender  gloom  ?  He  felt — not  as  a  boy  fancies,  but  as  a  man 
knows — that  he  never  would.  It  was  while  he  was  reflecting 
upon  this  that  Madeleine  spoke : 

"  I  received  your  letter  this  morning,  Mr.  Devereux,  and  read 
it  before  I  went  to  church.  If  we  are  to  speak  to  any  purpose, 
I  must  tell  you  frankly  how  it  impressed  me." 

"  Tell  me,  by  all  means,"  said^  Devereux.  "  What  can  I  ask 
from  you  better  than  frankness  ?  " 

There  was  an  accent  of  restrained  feeling  in  his  words,  but  it 
brought  no  tinge  of  color  to  Madeleine's  cheeks,  nor  change  to 
her  manner.     She  went  on  quietly  : 

"  You  may  ask  something  better  when  you  have  heard  my 
frankness.     I  fear  that  I  shall  pain  you — " 

"  Never  mind  any  fear  of  paining  me,"  he  interposed,  quickly, 
"  That  is  not  a  matter  of  the  least  importance.  Say  what  you 
choose.     You  can  say  nothing  that  will  ofi'end  me." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do  so,"  she  replied,  with  evident 
sincerity.  "  Let  me  begin,  then,  by  saying  that  I  was  unjust  to 
you  yesterday.  I  should  not  have  called  you  dishonorable  and 
cruel — I  might  have  known  that  you  could  not  be  either  of  those 
things  deliberately.  You  have  shown  me  that  you  were  only 
volatile  and  careless  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  some  of  the  worst 
consequences  on  earth  flow  from  those  causes." 

"  You  are  severe  ! "  said  Devereux,  who  felt  that  this  did  not 
mend  matters  much.  "  I  wonder  if  I  may  venture  to  say  that 
you  are  unjust.  If  my  letter  showed  you  that  I  was  volatile 
and  careless,  I  wrote  it  to  little  purpose,  after  all." 


DEVEREUX   TELLS   HIS   STORY.  445 

"What  else  could  it  show  me?"  asked  Madeleine,  with  a 
glow  suddenly  coraing  into  her  eyes.  "  Stop  a  moment  and 
think  !  When  3'ou  first  came  here,  five  months  ago,  do  you 
remember  how  you  were  attracted  by  Rosalind  ?  I  do  not  say 
that  the  fancy  was  strong  or  lasting,  but  it  loas  a  fancy — no  one 
could  doubt  that.  You  amused  yourself  with  her,  as  you  had 
probably  amused  yourself  with  a  succession  of  other  women. 
Then  you  saw  Marj',  and  her  delicate  charm  pleased  your  subtiler 
taste,  you  pitied  her,  and  there  were  reasons  which  made  it 
expedient  for  j^ou  to  marry.  You  offered  yourself,  and  she 
accepted  you — loving  most  tenderly,  trusting  most  absolutely. 
Should  not  such  love  and  trust,  and  your  own  honor,  have  made 
you  constant  ?  But  your  fancy  wandered  yet  again,  and  in  this 
w^andering  stabbed  the  truest,  gentlest,  most  generous  of  hearts. 
You  sent  that  heart  away  darkened  by  a  suspicion  of — of  one 
who  would  have  died  sooner  than  deserve  it  ;  which  can  never 
be  disproved  on  earth ;  and  that  great  error  has  led  to  a  legacy 
of  trouble  which  j-ou  leave  others  to  bear.  All  this  your  letter 
made  clear  to  me,  Mr.  Devereux." 

He  was  dumb.  The  list  of  charges  was  so  unexpected  and 
so  overwhelming,  that  he  felt  like  one  whose  power  of  speech 
had  been  stricken  away.  In  Madeleine's  words,  he  saw  himself 
as  she  saw  him,  and  the  sight  rendered  him  aghast.  He  was 
silent  and  motionless  for  so  long,  that  her  heart  suddenly  smote 
her — what  had  she  said  ?  Had  she  wounded  him  more  deeply 
than  she  thought  possible  ?  Her  lips  were  unclosing  for  speech, 
when  Devereux  himself  spoke,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
distant  purple  horizon. 

"  God  help  me.  Miss  Severn,  if  all  that  is  true !  No  wonder 
you  despise  me  if  you  believe  it." 

"  I  fear  I  have  been  harsh,"  said  Madeleine,  moved  to  com- 
punction. "  I  do  not  despise  you.  I  think  you  have  been  care- 
less, but  I  do  not  believe  you  meant  any  harm." 

"  You  only  think  that  I  made  the  worst  kind  of  harm 
through  very  idleness;  again  I  say,  God  help  me  if  you  are 
right ! " 


446  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  And  God  forgive  me  if  I  am  wrong,"  said  Madeleine,  "  for 
I  see  that  I  have  pained  you.  But  I  thought  it  best  to  be 
frank." 

"  It  was  best,"  said  he,  hoarsely ;  and  then  again  there  was 
silence. 

Having  delivered  herself  of  that  opinion,  which  during  the 
whole  day  had  burned  within  her  for  utterance,  Madeleine  now 
felt  as  uncomfortable  as  people  generally  do  after  such  a  relief 
to  their  minds.  Had  she  been  unjust?  She  feared  that  she  had 
been  unkind,  that  she  had  spoken  with  too  little  regard  to  the 
golden  precept  of  charity.  It  was  all  true,  she  thought — but, 
then,  no  one  knew  better  than  herself  that  truth  is  not  always 
to  be  uttered  in  uncompromising  severity.  It  was  Devereux 
who  ended  the  pause  after  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  have  been  asking  myself  whether  I  shall  endeavor  to 
justify  my  conduct  in  your  eyes,"  he  said,  "  and  I  have  decided 
not  to  make  the  attempt.  You  have  seen,  no  doubt,  those  draw- 
ings w^hich,  regarded  from  a  wrong  point  of  view,  present  only 
grotesque  and  unmeaning  lines — yet  from  another  point  exhibit 
harmony  and  unity  of  design.  Sometimes  a  character  may  be 
like  that.  It  is  not  probable,  I  suppose,  that  you  w411  ever 
change  the  point  of  view  from  which  you  regard  my  character; 
but  if  you  ever  should,  you  will  understand  your  mistakes  better 
than  I  can  make  them  clear.  Until  tliat  time,  words  of  justifi- 
cation would  serve  no  purpose." 

There  was  something  in  this  proud  yet  not  angry  reticence 
which  touched  Madeleine  more  than  many  sentences  of  pleading 
could  have  done.  It  was  only  natural,  perhaps,  that  when  he 
laid  down  weapons  of  defense,  she  should  begin  to  consider  that 
something  might  be  said  on  his  side. 

"  You  must  think  me  very  unkind,"  she  said.  "  No  doubt 
you  also  think  my  ideas  very  strained.  To  a  man  of  the  world, 
I  can  imagine  that  such  things  may  seem  very  trivial." 

"  Are  3'ou  giving  me  a  taste  of  satire  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Such 
things  ! — do  you  mean  such  trifles  as  honor,  and  hapi^iness,  and 
the  strongest  passion  of  man  ?     But  I  forget  that  you  believe 


DEVEREUX   TELLS   HIS  STORY.  447 

t 

me  to  be  a  Sybarite,  a  trifler,  who  can  never  do  more  than  sip 
the  froth  of  life." 

"Mr.  Devereux,  are  t/ou  just  when  you  hold  me  accountable 
for  an  opinion  I  never  entertained  ?  " 

"  Do  3^ou  not  entertain  it  ?  Do  you  not  think  that  I  spend 
my  life  in  a  succession  of  idle  fancies  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  force  me  to  say  what  will  sound  harsh 
asrain  ?  " 

*•  Because  I  want  to  know  exactlj^  how  poor  an  opinion  you 
entertain  of  me." 

She  looked  distressed.  This  was  all  very  unpleasant,  and 
the  worst  of  it  was  that  it  seemed  as  unendino-  as  a  circle. 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  not  altogether  to  blame,"  she  said. 
"  Your  reputation  preceded  you,  and  then  I  have  seen — " 

She  stopped,  and  he  took  up  her  sentence  :  "  You  think  you 
have  seen  how  well  my  reputation  is  deserved.  In  other  words, 
must  I  understand  that  you  rank  my  love  for  you  with  any  fan- 
cies which  may  have  gone  before  it  ?  " 

"  Since  you  force  me  to  utter  what  sounds  so  ungracious — 
how  can  I  rank  it  otherwise  ?  " 

"  And  you  do  not  believe  that  it  will  prove  enduring  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  believe  it  ?  But,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly, 
with  a  sudden  flush  on  her  white  cheeks,  "  all  this  is  quite 
useless.  According  to  rules  of  courtesy  I  suppose  I  should  say 
that  I  am  grateful  for  your — fancy.  But  you  will  pardon  the 
omission.  I  cannot  be  grateful  for  what  has  wrought  in  every 
way  so  much  harm.  I  must  not  let  you  suppose  that  whether  it 
endures  or  whether  it  does  not  is  a  matter  of  importance  to  me. 
But  I  have  no  idea  that  it  will  endure." 

"  Time  must  answer  for  me,"  said  Devereux,  calmly.  There 
he  paused.  What  would  he  not  have  given  to  know  how  Httle 
or  how  great  a  place  Lacy  yet  held  in  her  heart !  but  he  dared 
not  ask.  What  right  had  he  to  utter  such  a  question  ?  He  only 
looked  at  her  and  said,  "  If  I  am  living  three  years  hence,  may  J 
come  back  and  tell  vou  whether  it  has  endured  ?" 


^48  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


Madeleine's    answer. 


Madeleine  was  vexed  with  herself  for  having  been  led  into 
a  discussion  which  finally  drew  down  such  a  question.  A 
haughty  answer  rose  to  her  lips — an  emphatic  disavowal  of  any 
interest  in  the  life  or  death  of  Mr.  Devereux's  fancy — but  she 
did  not  utter  it.  One  of  the  generous  impulses  which  were 
stronger  with  her  than  any  thing  else  restrained  words  which 
she  would  have  regretted  afterward.  For  in  this  sad  world  we 
cannot  easily  be  too  kind,  and,  if  we  err  at  all,  it  is  better  to  err 
in  that  way — it  is  far  better  to  think,  "  I  might  have  been  more 
severe ! "  than  to  think,  "  I  might  have  been  more  gentle ! " 
When  she  answered,  therefore,  it  was  with  much  of  her  usual 
sw^eetness : 

"  I  must  be  frank  with  you,  and  say  that  there  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  do  so.  I  hope  your  fancy  will  not  endure,  but 
I  should  be  very  culpable  if  I  let  you  think  that  I  shall  be  more 
ready  to  listen  to  it  three  years  hence  than  I  am  now." 

He  was  still  looking  at  her,  and  an  expression  so  pained  and 
wistful  came  into  his  eyes  at  those  words,  that  involuntarily  she 
turned  her  own  away.  The  woman  who  can  inflict  even  the  most 
unavoidable  suffering  without  finding  an  echo  for  it  in  her  own 
breast,  has  lost  from  her  nature  the  tenderest  trait  of  woman- 
hood. Madeleine  had  not  lost  it — indeed,  through  her  own  pain, 
she  had  lately  gained  a  fresher,  deeper  sympathy  for  the  pain  of 
others — and  this  sympathy  stirred  now,  despite  her  belief  that 
what  Devereux  felt  for  her  was  only  an  idle  sentiment  whici 
would  soon  be  swept  away  by  other  impressions. 

*'  You  are  quite  sure  of  that  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice.  "  Do 
you  despise  me  so  mdch,  or  :.s  your  own  nature  so  unalterable 
that  you  can  speak  with  so  much  certainty  of  the  future  ?  I 
have  no  hope  7iow,  Miss  Severn,  but  if  I  prove  myself  worthy  of 
better  thoughts  than  you  have  given  me — " 


MADELEINE'S  ANSWER.  449 

She  lifted  her  hand  with  an  entreating  gesture,  her  lips 
quivered.  "  Don't !  "  she  said.  "  I  cannot  bear  it.  It  is  not 
that  I  despise  you,  or  that  I  imagine  myself  unalterable ;  but 
such  words  are  out  of  place." 

"  I  can  wait,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  And  some  day — you  will  at 
least  listen  to  me,  will  you  not  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  would  be  wrong  to  say  even  that," 
she  answered.  "  The  woman  w^ho  promises  to  listen,  promises 
also  to  answer  ;  and  there  is  no  answer  possible  between  us  save 
that  which  I  give  you  now.  Do  not  try  to  force  yourself  to 
remember  me  ;  on  the  contrary,  forget  me  as  soon  as  possible; 
and  don^t  blame  yourself — don't  think  that  it  is  because  you  are 
you  that  I  say  this — for  I  should  say  it  to  any  one  else." 

Then  the  words  which  he  had  desired  several  minutes  before 
to  utter  would  not  longer  be  restrained.  "  Do  you  mean  that 
your  heart  is  still  given  away  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  turned  and  met  his  eager  gaze  with  her  soft,  sad  eyes. 
"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  mean  that  it  is  emptj-." 

"  K  it  is  empty,  it  may  be  filled,"  said  Devereux  with  a  sud- 
den flash  of  resolution  on  his  face.  "  No  ! — do  not  answer  me. 
I  know  what  you  will  say.  But  you  cannot  hinder  me  from 
loving  you,  and  from  coming  some  day  in  the  future  to  plead  my 
cause — though  it  may  be  unavailingly.  You  are  not  accountable 
for  this.  Remember  that,  and  do  not  ever  blame  yourself.  If  I 
rush  obstinately  on  pain,  it  is  my  own  fault,  but  experience  has 
taught  me  that  nothing  worth  possessing  is  won  easily.  The 
rich  prizes  of  life  are  only  gained  by  a  man's  best  effort.  It  has 
dawned  on  me  by  slow  degrees,  that  it  is  better  to  fail  in  striv- 
ing after  them,  than  to  be  content  with  lower  things  that  are 
more  easily  reached.  Therefore,  I  shall  not  let  any  thing  hinder 
me  from  striving  after  the  one  prize  which  seems  to  me  best 
worth  winning  on  earth,  and  if  I  fail — it  will  be  no  fault  of 
yours." 

Were  these  the  words  of  a  trifler,  of  one  who  cared  only  for 
things  easily  reached,  for  fruits  that  grow  low,  for  flowers  readj* 
to  the  hand?      Madeleine  could  not  help  asking  herself  this 


450  A  QUESTION   OF  UONOR. 

question.  All  that  was  best  and  most  determined  in  Devereux's 
cliaracter  was  in  his  face  at  that  moment — lighting-  up  the  hand- 
some, listless  features  with  new  expression — expression  so  vivid 
that  she  retained  the  memory  of  it  afterward  like  a  picture. 
The  eyes  grew  luminous,  the  mouth  set  itself  in  grave,  steady 
lines  under  the  sweeping,  blond  mustache. 

'  You  leave  me  nothing  to  answer,"  she  said  after  a  minute, 
*'  except  that  I  am  sorry,  oh,  very  sorry,  you  have  not  some  better 
hope  to  lead  you  to  all  that  I  think  you  may  yet  accomplish." 

"I  could  not  have  a  better  hope,"  he  answered,  "and,  even 
if  it  never  finds  fulfillment,  I  shall  not  regret — any  thing." 

Madeleine  made  no  reply.  The  sun  sank  slowly,  wrapped 
in  tender  haze.  There  were  not  clouds  to  form  a  brilliant  sun- 
set, but  a  rosy  glow  diffused  itself  over  all  the  drooping  west. 
In  the  sky  above,  a  white  moon  hung.  Every  thing  was  fair  and 
still :  there  were  no  striking  forms  or  colors,  but  exquisite  tone 
and  sentiment  pervaded  the  whole  scene.  It  was  pleasant  to  sit 
there  with  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  spread  before  them,  and 
the  sweet  murmur  of  flowing  water  rising  from  the  valley  below ; 
but  each  felt  that  the  time  for  ending  this  had  come.  When 
Madeleine  rose,  saying,  "  We  must  go,"  Devereux  assented, 
though  he  felt  all  that  the  going  meant  for  him.  After  they  had 
descended  the  hill  and  were  walking  along  the  valle}'^,  he  said : 

"  You  will  remember,  perhaps,  that  I  asked  3'ou  to  let  me 
hear  your  final  decision  with  regard  to  the  Carlisle  estate,  this 
afternoon.  Surely,  you  are  not  still  determined  to  refuse  Mary's 
bequest  ? " 

"  I  am,  if  possible,  more  determined  than  ever,"  Madeleine 
answered.  "  What  do  you  think  of  me,  that  you  can  suppose 
any  thing  else  ?  You  have  added  to  my  resolution  by  all  that 
you  have  told  me.  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  retain  the 
fortune  now." 

"  That  is  your  unalterable  decision  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  unalterable  decision." 

"  Then  I  will  say  nothing  further  on  the  subject  to  trouble 
you,  but  I  must  see  your  brother  before  I  leave." 


•  MADELEIXE'S  ANSWER.  45I 

"  Are  you  o-oiiio;  to-nia'lit  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to-nig-ht." 

They  said  little  besides  this  in  the  course  of  their  homeward 
walk.  Lance,  marching  gravely  behind  with  drooping  tail,  won- 
dered, no  doubt,  what  spirit  of  silence  had  come  over  them;  but 
Lance  had  a  dog-like  ignorance  of  the  variableness  of  human 
moods. 

When  Madeleine  reached  home,  she  constrained  herself  to 
ask  Devereux  if  he  would  not  come  in  to  tea,  "  since  it  is  for  the 
last  time,"  she  added  ;  but  the  effort  was  probably  too  plain  in 
the  invitation — he  declined.  "  With  your  permission,  however, 
I  will  make  my  adieux  to  Mrs.  Severn,"  he  said. 

This  was  not  a  ceremony  which  occupied  much  time.  "  Mr. 
Devereux  wishes  to  tell  you  good-by,  mamma,"  said  Made- 
leine, leading  the  way  into  the  sitting-room  where  Mrs.  Severn 
was  usually  to  be  found,  f  She  was  there  at  present,  and 
although  she  had  no  partiality  for  Devereux — regarding  him  in 
the  light  of  the  person  to  whom  Madeleine  persisted  in  resign- 
ing the  Carlisle  property — she  was  too  thorough-bred  to  fail  in 
courtesy  and  well- worded  regret.  Devereux,  on' his  part,  acquit- 
ted himself  with  rather  more  than  his  usual  ffrace.  Havino* 
made  his  acknowledgments  for  all  the  kindness  and  hospitality 
which  he  had  received,  he  carried  to  his  lips  Mrs.  Severn's  pale, 
delicate,  blue-veined  hand.  '  If  we  never  meet  again,"  he  said, 
"  pray  give  me  a  small  place  in  your  memorv,  for  you  will 
always  retain  a  very  great  place  in  mine." 

Then  he  turned  to  Madeleine,  and  it  may  not  be  uncharitable 
to  suppose  that,  in  kissing  the  elder  lady's  hand,  he  had  wished 
to  establish  a  precedent.  Certainly  he  put  his  lips,  almost  with- 
out a  word,  on  the  one  which  Madeleine  extended,  and,  as  she 
drew  back,  it  chanced  that  the  knot  of  violets  from  her  throat 
dr<3pped  at  his  feet.  He  stooped  and  lifted  theni.  "May  I 
keep  them  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  her.  "  It  was  an  accident — 
you  did  not  give  them — they  gave  themselves — may  I  keep  them 
in  memory  of  all  your  kindness  ?  " 

"  Of   course   you    mav    keep   them,"    answered    Madeleine, 


452  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

hastily,  conscious  of  Mrs.  Severn's  eyes  and  ears ;  "  but  tliey 
are  very  faded." 

"  Thank  3'ou,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Now  may  I  beg  one  more 
favor — will  you  ask  your  brother  to  meet  me  at  the  hotel  this 
evening  ?     My  train  leaves,  I  believe,  at  nine  o'clock." 

"  I  will  tell  him  certainly,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  see  you," 
said  Madeleine.     "  I  am  sorry  he  is  not  at  home  now." 

In  this  way  they  parted.  With  a  bow  which  included  both 
ladies,  Devereux  left  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Severn  walked  to  the 
window  for  a  parting  glimpse  of  him.  "  What  excellent  man- 
ners he  has!  "  she  said  approvingly.  "I  have  seen  nothing  like 
them  since  I  was  young.  But  how  strange  of  him  to  go  away 
just  when  you  are  about  to  give  up  all  that  fortune  to  him  !  I 
confess  I  don't  understand  the  business,  Madeleine." 

Madeleine  did  not  feel  able  just  then  to  play  the  part  of 
enlightener.  She  was  weary  in  mind  and  body,  and  she  passed 
out  of  the  room  and  went  up-stairs. 

Basil  came  in  late,  and,  hearing  with  some  surprise  of  Deve- 
reux's  intended  departure,  took  his  tea  hastily  in  order  that  he 
might  reach  the  hotel  in  time  to  see  that  gentleman.  He  found 
him  writing  a  letter  in  the  midst  of  a  room  full  of  that  disorder 
which  is  so  significant  of  preparations  for  a  journey.  A 
strapped  portmanteau  stood  on  the  floor,  an  overcoat  was  thrown 
over  a  chair.  Basil  paused  in  the  door  and  regarded  these  tokens 
of  "  flitting  "  somewhat  grimly. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Devereux,  glancing  up. 
"  Come  in  and  sit  down — I  shall  finish  in  a  moment.  I  am  only 
writing  a  few  lines  to  Stringfellow." 

Basil  waited  till  the  few  lines  were  finished.  Then  he  said 
in  a  judicial  tone,  "  Pray  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Do  you 
think  it  is  exactly  fair  or  considerate  to  take  yourself  ofi",  leav- 
ing a  business  unsettled  in  which  3'ou  are  more  concerned  thai> 
any  one  else  ?  " 

'/See  here!"  said  Devereux.  "There  has  been  nonsense 
enough  talked  about  that  business.  Understand,  once  for  all,  as 
man  to  man,  that  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.     If  your 


MADELEINE'S   ANSWER.  453 

sister  persists  in  her  present  intention  of  making  tlie  propertj^ 
over  to  me,  it  will  simply  remain  in  your  hands,  unless  you 
choose  to  hand  the  management  over  to  some  one  else.  I  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  either  directly  or  indirectly.  It 
would  be  a  pity  for  such  an  estate  to  go  to  rack  and  ruin,  how- 
ever, so  I  hope  you  will  continue  to  look  after  it." 

"  To  what  definite  end  ?  "  asked  Basil.  "  By  Jove  !  I  won- 
der if  such  a  thino;  was  ever  heard  of  before  !  I  should  like  to 
know  if  you  consider  this  just  to  my  sister  ?  You  don't  think 
of  the  position  in  which  she  is  placed." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  returned  Devereux,  shortly.  "  But  it  is  a  posi- 
tion the  difi&culties  of  which  she  altog-ether  exagfo-erates.  Can't 
you  take  my  word  for  that?  I  know  more  of  the  matter  than 
any  one  else.  She  will  be  influenced  by  you.  Don't  encourage 
her  in  the  act  of  sheer  folly  which  she  contemplates." 

"You  don't  know  Madeleine,"  said  Basil.  *'  Gentle  and 
yielding  as  she  usually  is,  when  she  thinks  a  thing  is  right  she 
can  be  like  a  rock." 

Devereux  was  lio-htino;  a  cio;ar  and  did  not  answer  for  a  mo- 
ment.  When  he  did  it  was  to  say :  "  I  think  I  know  her  well 
enough  to  imagine  that.  But  there  is  no  earthly  reason  why 
she  should  think  this  right.  And  you  neither  of  you  know  me. 
If  you  fancy  I  shall  yield  an  inch,  you  are  mistaken." 

"  I  don't  fancy  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Basil,  drylj-. 
"  I  think  it  is  pretty  evident  that  your  obstinacy  and  pride  are 
both  in  arms." 

"  Call  my  resolution  what  you  please,  so  that  you  understand 
that  nothing  will  induce  me  to  change  it.  I  should  like,  how- 
ever, to  know  that  in  an}''  case  you  will  remain  at  the  helm  of 
the  ship  you  have  managed  so  long.  Won't  you  promise  me 
that  ?  I  don't  ask  it  in  my  own  name,  but — in  Mary's.  Nothing 
was  nearer  her  heart  than  your  interest.  You  know  better  than 
I  can  tell  you  how  grateful  she  was  for  j'our  faithful  friendship 
and  service  ;  for  her  sake,  then — will  you  do  this  ?  " 

Basil  rose  and  walked  across  the  room.  A  full  minute 
elapsed  before  he  could  steady  his  voice  to  reply.     Devereux's 

20 


454  A  QUESTION   OF  EOXOR. 

words,  simple  as  they  vvere,  seemed  to  bring  Mary's  presence 
before  liim.  For  her  sake  !  Was  there  any  thing  he  would  not 
have  done  for  her  sake,  for  the  sake  of  that  tender  friendship 
which  death  had  hallowed,  not  ended?  When  he  came  back, 
Devereux  knew  that  his  point  was  gained. 

"  I  can't  refuse,"  he  said,  "  what  is  asked  in  that  name. 
Mary  and  her  father  were  much  more  than  kind,  far  more  than 
generous  to  me.  For  their  sakes  it  would  certainly  go  hard 
with  me  to  see  the  property  neglected  or  abused.  I  meant  to 
give  up  all  management  as  soon  as  the  transfer  of  the  estate 
was  made ;  but  now — " 

''Thank  you  !  "  said  Devereux,  eagerly.  "Thank  you  very 
much.  Now  my  mind  is  easier.  I  believe  there  is  little  more 
to  be  said  except  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  never  forget  all  your 
kindness.  I  have  no  idea  that  you  remember  how  great  it  has 
been,  but  I  shall  never  forget.  In  time  of  action  words  are  few, 
however,  and  I  see  " — glancing  at  his  w^atch — "  that  my  train 
is  shortl}^  due.  Will  j'ou  walk  down  to  the  station  and  see 
me  off  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  Basil.  "  The  night  is  beautiful, 
and,  thanks,  yes — I'll  light  a  cigar." 

The  night  was  as  soft  as  the  day  had  been,  and  fleecy  vapors 
were  floating  over  the  moon,  obscuring  but  not  hiding  her  light. 
The  two  young  men  walked  down  to  the  station,  aid  then  paced 
the  platform  together,  smoking  and  talking,  until  the  red  eye  of 
a  locomotive  burned  in  the  distance,  and  a  minute  later  drew 
its  train  of  vibrating  cars  beside  them.  Then  their  hands  met 
in  that  tight  clasp  which  with  Anglo-Saxon  men  expresses  so 
much. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,"  said  Basil,  "  and  let  me  hear  from 


vou." 


"  Don't  forget  your  promise,"  said  Devereux.     "  Good-by." 
The  engine  gave  an  impatient  whistle ;  one  sprang  on  board  ; 
the  other  waved  his  hand  ;  there  was  another  whistle,  a  clang 
of  machinery,  and  the  train  sped  swiftly  and  noisily  away. 


BOOK  YI. 

IN  WHICH  SOME  THREADS  ARE  SMOOTHED. 


CHAPTER    I. 

"  O   LAST   EEGPvET,   E,EGPwET   CAN   DIE  !  " 

Deyeeeux's  last  words  were  not  without  effect.  Madeleine 
remained  firm  in  her  intention  of  resigning  the  estate,  and  car- 
ried this  intention  into  effect  as  soon  as  possible ;  but  the  conse- 
quences to  the  estate  were  not  so  disastrous  as  they  might  have 
been  if  Basil  had  carried  out  his  intention  of  giving  up  the  man- 
agement. As  it  happened,  the  result  of  the  whole  matter  was  to 
make  him  virtual  owner  of  the  property — an  odd  kind  of  own- 
ership, involving  much  trouble  and  very  little  profit.  When 
Devereux  was  informed,  some  time  after  his  arrival  in  Colorado, 
that  the  deeds  transferring  the  estate  to  him  were  all  regularly 
executed  (though  not  by  the  aid  of  Champion,  who  persisted  in 
"washing  his  hands  of  the  affair"),  he  replied  by  assuring  Basil 
that  the  information  was  not  of  the  least  importance  to  him. 
"  Nothing  shall  induce  me  to  claim  the  property,  to  touch  a  six- 
pence drawn  from  it,  or  to  give  any  directions  with  regard  to  its 
management,"  he  wrote.  "  I  hope  you  will  keep  it  in  your 
hands  and  do  the  best  you  can  for  the  sake  of  those  who  are 
dead  ;  but,  even  if  you  decline  to  do  so,  I  shall  not  assume  any 
rights  of  ownership.     This  is  final  and  unalterable." 

In  consequence  of  this  final  and  unalterable  ultimatum,  Basil 


156  A  QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

had  no  alternative  but  to  continue  in  his  position,  and  to  admin- 
ister as  best  he  could  the  business  of  the  estate.  The  Lodge 
he  placed  in  Jessie's  charge  ;  the  mills  remained  imder  his  own 
superintendence,  while  he  was  forced  to  apply  and  invest  the 
large  income  arising  from  the  last  solely  by  the  light  of  his  own 
judgment.  It  was  a  trying  position,  and  one  which  would  have 
exposed  many  men  to  serious  charges  and  suspicions.  But  not 
the  most  malicious,  evil-speaking  tongue  in  Stansbury  ventured 
to  hint  a  doubt  of  Basil's  integrity.  Even  men  who  disliked 
him — and  in  all  such  places  there  are  liereditary  if  not  personal 
dislikes — owned  that  his  honesty  was  above  suspicion.  "  It 
would  be  a  capital  opportunity  for  some  people  to  fill  tlieir 
■  pockets,"  these  shrewd  johilosophers  observed ;  "  but  there's  no 
danger  of  any  thing  of  that  kind  with  Severn." 

This  was  a  fact  so  thoroughly  recognized  by  every  one  that 
it  even  penetrated  Miss  Champion's  bj-  no  means  acute  intelli- 
gence. She  did  not  absolutely  say  to  herself  that  it  showed 
very  little  knowledge  of  the  world  in  Basil  7iot  to  fill  his  pockets, 
but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  dimlv  felt  somethins:  akin  to  this. 
She  told  her  mother  in  the  forcible  language  of  her  class,  that  he 
was  "  poky  " — and  further  than  this  the  condemnation  of  the  girl 
of  the  period  can  scarcely  go.  "  He  will  never  be  any  thing  but 
poor,  he  will  never  do  any  thing  but  superintend  those  horrid 
mills,  and  plod  along  on  his  salary,"  she  continued.  "  I  like  a 
man  with  spirit  and  energy,  if  he  is  a  little  fast.  Better  be  too 
fast  than  too  slow." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Champion,  who  began 
to  be  somewhat  uneasy  with  regard  to  the  final  choice  of  this 
self-willed  young  lady.  "Fast  men  are  the  last  men  in  the 
world  to  marry,  Helen.  Basil  Severn  is  not  slow — unless  you 
call  honesty  slow." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  said  Helen.  "  I  only  mean  that  he  tires  me — 
he  is  too  good  for  me,  I  think  that  must  be  what  is  the  matter. 
I  feel  as  if  he  expected  me  to  sit  up  on  a  pedestal  and  be  wor- 
shiped, to  be  always  '  wisest,  virtuest,  discreetest,  best ' — and 
you  know  that  it  is  not  mt/  style  at  all.     The  fact  is,  he  is  alto- 


"0   LAST   REGRET,   REGRET   CAN  DIE  1 "  457 

gether  spoiled  by  Madeleine — he  wants  every  other  woman  to  be 
on  her  pattern — and  I  don't  admire  her  at  all?"* 

"  I  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  Madeleine  Severn,"  said  Mrs. 
Champion,  magisterially,  "  though  I  think  she  acted  foolishly  in 
giving  up  the  Carlisle  estate.  I  wish  your  manners  were  as 
good  as  hers,  Helen." 

"  Her  manners  are  old-fashioned,"  said  Helen,  who  resented 
this.  "  She  is  old-fashioned  herself.  I  think  she  is  cut  out  for 
an  old  maid,  and  the  best  thing  she  and  Basil  can  do  will  be  to 
live  always  together  and  admire  each  other." 

Notwithstanding  these  kindly  opinions.  Miss  Champion  did 
not  take  any  immediate  steps  to  end  her  engagement  with 
Basil.  Probably  consideration  for  self  was  at  the  root  of  this. 
Stansbury  was  dull — very  dull — ^just  then.  If  she  did  not  sing 
"Robin  Adair"  after  Lacy's  departure,  she  at  least  felt  that  the 
town  was  nothing  to  her  without  the  spice  of  his  presence. 
Failino-  the  chief  D:ood  which  she  desired,  she  fell  back  on  a  lesser. 
There  are  multitudes  of  women  to  whom,  as  long  as  they  are 
unmarried,  an  admirer — a  subject  for  flirtation — is  a  necessity 
of  life.  To  this  class  Helen  Champion  distinctively  belonged. 
Since  Robin  Adair  had  gone  away  in  very  unpoetical  sulks,  she 
consoled  herself  with  a  substitute  for  him — though  it  may  be 
said,  to  Basil's  credit,  that  he  made  a  very  poor  one.  He  was 
not  a  sufficient  master  of  the  art  of  compliment,  neither  was  he 
content  to  live  in  hadinage  forever,  and  he  often  wearied — gal- 
lantly as  he  strove  to  repress  any  sign  of  this — of  the  froth  which 
made  up  Helen's  conversation.  He  was  too  loyal,  however,  to 
fail  in  devotion  or  attention  to  the  woman  he  had  sought,  or  to 
complain  of  what  he  had  deliberately  brought  on  himself. 

In  this  manner  several  months  went  on.  "Winter  melted  into 
spring,  and  spring  bloomed  into  summer  with  very  little  change 
in  the  attitude  of  affairs.  Twice  or  thrice  during  this  time,  Basil 
received  a  letter  from  Devereux — pleasant,  friendly  epistles, 
describing  his  life  in  Denver,  and  asking  for  news  from  Stans- 
bury. After  the  first  of  these  letters,  they  contained  no  allusion 
whatever  to  business,  and  more  than  once  Basil  wondered  why 


458  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

tLey  were  written.  He  always  handed  them  to  Madeleine,  and 
she  read  them  as  she  might  have  read  the  letters  of  any  ordinary 
acquaintance.  "  He  writes  uncommonly  well,"  Basil  would  say, 
and  she  always  assented  cordially.  "  There  is  no  affectation  in 
his  style,"  she  answered  once.  "  He  writes  with  the  simplicity 
which  is  the  greatest  charm  of  a  letter." 

"  It  is  a  great  charm  of  any  thing,"  said  Basil,  with  a  slight 
sigh.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  a  character  Avhich  had  lately 
unfolded  itself  to  him,  and  which  lacked  altogether  that  crown- 
ing grace. 

As  time  passed,  the  friends  and  countrymen  whom  Gordon 
Lacy  had  left  so  contemptuouslj^  behind  began  to  hear  news  of 
him.  This  news  came  throu2:h  the  channel  which  he  liked  best 
— the  public  press.  A  book  bearing  his  name  appeared,  which 
excited  a  great  deal  of  comment — some  of  which  was  very  far 
from  flattering.  Other,  however,  was  laudatory  in  the  extreme, 
and  it  has  come  to  be  an  accepted  axiom  that  it  is  better  for  an 
author  to  be  a  bone  of  contention  among  critics  than  for  his 
work  to  be  damned  with  faint  praise,  or  not  noticed  at  all.  A 
bone  of  contention  this  book  of  Lacy's — a  dramatic  poem  of  con- 
siderable length — undoubtedly  became.  Some  critics  of  high 
authority  hailed  the  rising  of  a  new  and  very  brilliant  star  in 
literature ;  others  said  emphatically  that,  although  Mr.  Lacy  was 
abundantly  gifted  with  pleasant  fancies,  and  was  a  thorough 
artist  in  his  choice  of  terms  and  use  of  rhvme  and  metre,  he  had 
not  a  shred  of  original  genius.  "  In  this  volume  of  graceful  and 
melodious  verse,"  wrote  one  of  the  latter  class,  "  we  find  every 
proof  of  an  agreeable  fancy  and  a  cultivated  taste ;  but  that 
which  the  performance  most  fatally  lacks  is  strength.  When- 
ever the  author  attempts  to  soar  bej'ond  a  certain  level  of  mu- 
sical prettiness — we  are  heartily  sorry  to  pain  him  by  the  use  of 
the  last  word,  but  it  is  unavoidable — he  does  so  on  borrowed 
pinions.  There  is  much  in  the  book  which  suggests  Morris, 
there  is  a  flavor  of  Rossetti,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of  Swin- 
burne. At  the  feet  of  all  these  esoteric  poets,  Mr.  Lacy  has 
plainly  sat.     In  many  instances,  he  has  inclosed  thoughts  which 


"0   LAST   REGRET,   REGRET   CAN  DIE!"  459 

are  his  own  in  forms  so  plainly  borrowed,  that  the  imitation  is 
evident  to  the  most  casual  observation.  We  are  sorry  to  add 
that,  in  borrowing  much  which  is  good — the  peculiar  charm  of 
the  author  of  the  '  Earthly  Paradise,'  for  instance — he  has  also 
taken  much  that  blots  the  delicate  grace  of  his  pages.  There  is 
a  sensuousness  here  and  there  which  would  do  credit  to  Mr. 
Swinburne." 

In  the  above  key  all  the  depreciatory  criticisms  were  written. 
There  was  no  lack  of  kindness  in  any  of  them — there  w^as  no 
excuse  for  Lacy  to  consider  himself  a  second  misjudged  Keats — 
but  they  all  made  the  same  charge  with  singular  unanimity.  A 
copy  of  the  book,  with  a  complimentary  inscription  on  the  fly- 
leaf. Lacy  sent  to  Helen  Champion  as  soon  as  it  appeared,  and 
she  carried  it  in  a  glow  of  triumph  to  Madeleine.  "  I  thought 
you  might  like  to  see  it,"  she  explained,  "  and  the  booksellers 
here  have  not  received  their  copies  yet.  It  must  be  making  a 
great  sensation.  I  saw  a  very  complimentary  notice  of  it  in  the 
Journal  of  Literature  and  Art  this  morning." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Madeleine,  quietly.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to 
look  over  it." 

After  Miss  Champion  went  away,  leaving  the  daintily-bound 
volume  on  the  table  in  the  room  where  Lacy  himself  had  often 
sat  and  read  the  manuscripts  of  his  poems  aloud  for  Madeleine's 
criticisms  and  suggestions,  Mrs.  Severn  roused  from  her  usual 
placid  calm  to  express  an  opinion. 

"  I  never  knew  any  thing  to  equal  the  ill-breeding  and  inso- 
lence of  that  girl !  "  she  remarked.  "  To  think  of  her  bringing 
you  a  book  which  Gordon  Lacy  sent  to  her  !  Why  did  3-ou  let 
her  leave  it,  Madeleine  ?  I  should  have  told  her  that  I  had  no 
desire  to  read  anything  he  had  written." 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma  ;  3'ou  would  never  have  told  her  any  thing 
of  the  kind,"  answered  Madeleine,  with  a  smile.  "  You  are 
angry  for  me  now ;  but  if  you  had  been  in  my  place  you  would 
have  acted  as  I  did — knowing  that  she  would  have  been  very 
much  gratified  if  I  had  declined  to  receive  the  book." 

"  I  hope,  at  all  events,  you  don't  mean  to  read  it,"  said  JMrs. 
Severn,  still  indignantly. 


i60  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Madeleine.  "  Do  you  tliink  I  have  lost 
all  interest  in  Gordon  ?  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  anxious  to 
see  it." 

Later  in  the  day  she  carried  the  book  with  her  when  she 
went  for  a  walk,  which  ended — as  her  walks  often  did — on 
Crag's  Hill.  She  could  scarcely  tell  why  she  liked  this  place  so 
much,  except  that  it  was  elevated  and  lonely,  and  the  view  from 
it  w^as  very  fair,  now  that  the  land  was  clothed  with  summer's 
green,  and  smiling  with  summer's  abundance.  As  she  sat  there 
on  this  evening,  soft,  tricksy  breezes  played  about  her,  the  great 
voice  of  Nature's  multitudinous  life  rose  up  from  the  valley 
below^,  while  through  the  pines  behind  a  sighing  murmur  now 
and  then  crept.  Every  thing  was  still  and  peaceful.  The  low, 
slanting  sunshine  lay  like  a  mantle  of  gold  over  the  earth — sun- 
shine full  of  serene  beauty — while  from  the  distance  came  the 
faint  tinkle  of  bells,  as  the  cattle  wended  their  way  homeward. 
It  was  an  hour  so  suggestive  of  happiness  that  sadness  seemed 
more  than  sadness,  loneliness  twice  loneliness — and  it  is  impos- 
sible to  deny  that  Ivladeleine  was  both  sad  and  lonely.  She  did 
not  yield  weakly  or  morbidly  to  these  feelings — indeed,  no  one 
ever  struggled  more  valiantly  against  them — but  sometimes 
they  overpowered  her,  and  this  was  one  of  the  times.  As 
Lacy's  book  lay  in  her  lap — as  she  opened  it  and  saw  on  the  fly- 
leaf Helen  Champion's  name  in  his  well-knowai  w^riting — it  was 
not  jealousy  nor  absolute  pain,  but  a  great  sense  of  desolation 
which  made  her  tears  fall  in  a  quick,  fast  shower.  Almost  in- 
voluntarily she  murmured  some  lines  which  had  haunted  her  for 
many  days,  as  fragments  of  poetry  will,  in  certain  states  of  the 

mind : 

"  We  walked  too  straight  for  fortune's  end, 
We  loved  too  true  to  keep  a  friend  ; 
At  last  we're  tired,  my  heart  and  I." 

The  pathetic  voice  uttered  the  last  words  with  an  accent  so 
expressive  of  loneliness  aud  weariness,  that  it  touched  the  only 
heart  near  at  hand  to  be  touched.  Lance  pricked  up  his  ears, 
and,  turning,  looked  in  his  mistress's  face.     If  he  did  not  under- 


"0   LAST   REGRET,   REGRET   CAN   DIE!"  461 

stand  the  words,  he  understood  the  tone,  and  when,  after  a 
pause,  she  repeated  again, 

"  So  tired,  so  tired,  my  heart  and  I !  " — 

he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  but  creeping  close,  with  a  low 
whine,  laid  his  massive,  gentle  head  in  her  lap.  She  started  and 
looked  down.  No  words  can  describe  the  love  and  faithfulness 
shining  dumbly  in  the  liquid  eyes  uplifted  to  her.  It  was  as  if 
he  spoke — as  if  he  said,  "  Stop  and  think  how  many  there  are 
who  love  you  yet !  "  She  bent  down  suddenly  and  kissed  the 
broad,  intelligent  forehead.  "  Thank  you,  dear  Lance,"  she 
said,  "  and  God  forgive  me  for  my  ingratitude  !  " 

After  this  she  resolutely  turned  to  the  first  page  of  the  poem 
and  began  to  read.  A  better  antidote  for  the  regret  which  had 
almost  overpowered  her  could  scarcely  have  been  devised. 
Familiar  as  she  had  been  with  Lacy's  mind,  and  with  the  change 
which  had  been  coming  over  it  when  they  parted,  she  was  not 
prepared  for  such  a  revelation.  She  saw  in  every  verse  signs  of 
decadence,  not  only  in  the  poet,  but  in  the  man.  Was  this 
half-pagan  singer,  with  no  light  but  sunset,  and  no  hope  but  the 
grave  (as  some  one  has  well  said  of  the  school  to  which  he 
belonged),  the  same  whose  earlier,  simpler,  purer  songs  she  had 
loved  and  commended  ?  She  could  hardly  realize  it.  She  saw 
the  fatal  spirit  of  imitation  in  these  pages,  as  she  had  detected 
its  first  indication  on  that  far-gone  afternoon  in  the  cedar  sum- 
mer-house— and,  when  at  last  she  closed  the  book,  there  was  a 
look  of  unselfish  pain  in  her  eyes.  This  pain  was  all  for  Lacy — 
for  the  mist  which  had  come  over  his  spirit,  the  cloud  over  his 
eyes.  All  that  was  best  and  highest  seemed  eliminated  from 
his  work — and,  let  us  say  what  we  will,  an  artist's  work  reflects 
his  soul.  In  all  God's  world  it  has  never  been  known  that  a 
clear  fountain  sent  forth  a  polluted  stream.  "  O  my  poor  Gor- 
don !  "  said  Madeleine,  as  she  closed  the  book.  It  was  all  that 
she  could  say.  They  had  drifted  too  far  asunder  for  any  thing 
save  sorrow — sorrow  for  him — to  cross  the  gulf  between  them. 

When  the   volume  was   returned   to   Miss    Champion,   she 


i62  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

expressed,  even  more  effusively  than  before,  her  admiration. 
"  I  think  it  is  perfectly  exquisite  I  "  she  said,  "  and  I  have  writ- 
ten to  Mr.  Lacy  and  told  him  so.  I  am  afraid  my  letter  was 
absurdly  enthusiastic ;  but  then  I  can't  be  moderate  about  what 
I  really  admire  !  Have  you  any  message,  Madeleine,  if  I  should 
write  again  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,"  answered  Madeleine. 

This  was  in  July.  A  week  or  two  later — the  first  of  August — 
the  Champions  left  home  for  a  summer  campaign  of  some  length. 
"  AYe  may  go  as  far  as  Canada,  and  we  certainly  shall  not  be 
back  before  October,"  said  Rosalind,  when  she  came  to  say 
good-by,  looking  charmingly  lovely  from  the  consciousness  that 
the  world,  full  of  untold  possibilities  of  pleasure  and  admiration, 
was  before  her,  with  only  "  James's  odd  ideas  "  as  a  slight  draw- 
back. *'  If  you  had  kept  your  fortune,  Madeleine  " — Rosalind 
never  wearied  of  harping  on  this  string — "  you  might  be  going 
anywhere  you  chose — to  Switzerland,  perhaps." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Madeleine,  smiling  ;  "  but,  since  I  did  not 
keep  the  fortune,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  discuss  the  possi 
bility." 

Miss  Champion  also  came  to  make  her  adieux,  and  was  very 
coquettish  with  Basil,  very  sweetly  patronizing  to  Madeleine. 
She,  too,  was  intoxicated  with  the  hope  of  future  conquests. 
"  Perhaps  I  may  never  come  back,"  she  said,  laughing.  *'  I  am 
not  so  enamored  of  Stansbury  that  I  can  promise  to  resist  an 
excellent  opportunity  to  remain  in  some  gayer  place.  What  do 
}■  ou  say  to  that,  Mr.  Severn  ?  " 

"  You  must  act  altogether  for  your  own  happiness,"  answered 
Basil,  gravely.  They  were  walking  together  in  the  soft  summer 
moonlight,  and  the  young  man  thought  this  a  good  opportunity 
for  an  explanation.  "  I  hope  you  will  remember,"  he  went  on, 
"  that  I  do  not  wish  you  to  sacrifice  any  thing  to  your  engage- 
ment to  me." 

"  As  if  I  were  likely  to  do  so  ! "  thought  Miss  Champion, 
with  a  sense  of  profound  scorn  for  the  dullness  of  some  men. 
But  she  was  not  frank  enough  to  say  this  openly.    She  had  been 


"0   LAST   REGRET,   REGRET   CAX   DIE!"  463 

premature  once,  and  she  was  determined  not  to  be  premature 
again.  "  I  was  only  jesting,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  her 
dark,  starry  eyes.  "  You  should  not  take  every  thing  so  liter- 
ally.    I  only  wanted  to  hear  what  you  would  say." 

This  was  an  opportunity  for  Basil  to  utter  some  impassioned 
flattery — something  to  please  her  vanity,  and  touch  the  fancy 
which  did  duty  for  her  heart.  The  kind  of  lover  she  desired  was 
one  who  had  all  the  light  nothings  of  gallantry  and  sentiment 
ready  at  his  tongue's  end,  who  was  expert  in  turning  every 
remark  into  a  compliment,  and  who  never  wearied  her  by  a 
seriousness  and  earnestness  which  she  could  not  comprehend. 
To  such  an  ideal,  Basil  bore  no  resemblance.  Just  now  his 
heart  was  too  sad  for  flattery.  It  has  been  known,  since  the 
beginning  of  the  world,  that  at  parting  we  are  most  likely  to 
learn  how  much  we  love,  and  the  parting  looming  before  him 
now  taught  him  that  this  woman  was  dearer  to  him  than  of  late 
he  had  imagined.  He  began  to  feel  the  self-reproach,  common 
to  all  generous  natures,  to  think  that  he  had  judged  too  hardly 
her  folly  and  frivolity.  He  did  not  answer  her  last  remark  for 
some  time — then  he  said  : 

"  One  thing  is  certain — you  will  know  your  own  mind  and 
yoi-u"  own  heart  thoroughly  when  you  return.  You  will  be  able 
to  tell  then  where  your  happiness  lies.  If  you  can  come  back 
and  share  willingly  the  life  which  is  all  that  I  have  to  offer — 
I  hope  I  do  not  need  to  tell  you,  Helen,  how  happy  I  shall  be ! " 

"  You  don't  talk  as  if  you  would  be  very  happj-,"  said  Helen, 
with  a  slight  pout."  "  When  Xcare  for  any  thing,  I  care  for  it 
to  distraction.     I  never  understood  cold  peoiDle." 

"  It  can't  be  possible  that  you  think  me  cold  !  "  said  Basil,  to 
whom  this  was  a  new  charge,  though  lately  his  companion  had 
more  than  once  hinted  her  disapproval  of  him  in  various  waj's. 

Miss  Champion  replied  uncompromisingly,  that  she  did  think 
him  cold.  "  I  don't  believe  you  would  care  very  much  if  I  did 
not  come  back  at  all,"  she  added  in  an  injured  tone. 

"  Don't  try  me — that  is  all !  "  said  Basil,  smiling.  This  was 
undoubtedly  folly,  pure  and  simple ;  but  he  felt  indulgent  toward 


tG4  A   QUESTIOX   OF  HOXOR. 

it,  since  it  sprang,  or  seemed  to  spring,  from  love  for  liim.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  that  vanity  is  very  often  as  strong  as  love 
in  a  woman's  breast — the  vanity  which  desires  to  be  sure  of  the 
power  to  inflict  pain. 

In  this  manner  Miss  Champion  took  her  departure — still 
engaged  to  Basil,  and  promising  constancy  even  when  the  prom- 
ise was  not  demanded.  August  passed.  From  mountain 
spas  and  sea-side  resorts  came  rapturous  letters,  principally  from 
Rosalind,  now  and  then  from  Helen,  describing,  with  much 
underscoring  and  many  admiration-points,  the  gay  life  they  were 
leading.  When  September  spread  over  the  earth  its  mellow 
beautv,  these  letters  were  dated  from  New  York.  Then  it  was 
that  a  paragraph  in  one  of  Rosalind's  prepared  Madeleine  for 
what  was  to  come. 

"  We  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Gordon  Lacy  since  we  have 
been  here,"  Mrs.  James  Champion  wrote,  *'  and  I  think  it  only 
kind  to  let  you  know  that  he  is  very  attentive  to  Helen.  You 
know  she  has  been  crazy  about  him  for  a  long  time,  so  of  course 
this  delights  her.  The  matter  may  end  by  a  marriage,  since 
James  says  that  Gordon  is  very  much  disgusted  with  the  life  of 
a  literary  hack,  and  very  anxious  to  obtain  an  income  that  will 
relieve  him  from  the  necessity  of  writing  for  newspapers  and 
magazines.  I  give  you  this  hint  in  order  that  you  may  tell 
Basil  to  write  and  hreah  the  engagement.  I  do  not  want  her  to 
have  the  gratification  of  jilting  him.  He  may  use  my  name  as 
freely  as  he  pleases.  I  told  Helen  that  I  meant  to  let  him  know 
how  she  is  acting.  She  only  laughed.  Evidently,  she  thinks 
he  is  too  deep  in  her  toils  to  escape.  I  hope  he  will  prove  the 
contrary  to  her." 

Madeleine  had  no  alternative  but  to  show  this  letter  to  Basil. 
It  was  not  only  meant  for  him,  but  to  spare  him  pain  by  retain- 
ing it  would  have  been,  in  all  probability,  only  to  defer  the  blow 
and  render  it  harder  in  the  end.  She  gave  it  to  him,  therefore, 
and  watched  his  face  with  wistful,  loving  eyes  as  he  read  it. 
When  he  reached  the  paragraph  quoted  above,  she  saw  him 
start,  and  his  lips  set  themselves.     Beyond  this,  he  showed  no 


"0   LAST   REGRET,   REGRET   CAN  DIE!"  465 

sign  of  emotion,  and,  having  quietly  read  to  the  end  of  the  letter, 
he  folded  it  carefully,  returned  it  to  the  envelope,  and  then 
looked  up  and  met  her  gaze.  Something  in  that  gaze  touched 
him,  and  made  him  smile  a  little — the  brave,  sweet  smile  with 
which  he  had  gone  into  many  a  battle,  and  faced  worse  than 
hostile  cannon  in  his  life  of  dailv,  self-sacrificins:  toil. 

"  Don't  be  sorry  for  me,  i^etite^"^  he  said,  caressingly.  "  You 
know  3'ou  are  clear  of  blame — ^}^ou  warned  me.  I  did  not  heed 
the  warning,  but  that  was  my  fault,  and,  after  all,  it  scarcely 
matters.  Disappointment  and  pain  are  not  as  hard  to  me  as 
they  might  be  to  one  with  less  experience  of  both.  It  is  possi- 
ble to  grow  used  to  any  thing ;  and  then  you  remember  my 
motto : 

"  Come  what  will,  come  what  may, 
Time  and  the  hour  run  through  the  roughest  day." 

"  But  you  deserve  something  besides  rough  daj^s^"  said  Made- 
leine. "  It  seems  so  hard  that  you  should  have  set  your 
heart — " 

"  Never  mind,"  he  interrupted,  quietly.  "  It  is  the  fate  of 
many  a  man,  and  I  hope  I  know  how  to  bear  it.  Perhaps  it  is 
best  so.     I  am  afraid  I  never  could  have  made  her  happy." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  follow  Rosalind's  advice  ? "  asked 
Madeleine — though  she  felt  sure  what  the  answer  would  be. 

He  looked  at  her  and  she  read  it  in  his  grave,  handsome 
eyes.  "  No,"  he  replied  ;  "  a  gentleman  never  gives  a  woman 
back  her  faith.  If  Miss  Champion  chooses  to  jilt  me,  she  may 
do  so.     She  wall  lower  herself,  but  she  cannot  lower  me." 

A  few  weeks  went  on,  and  then  the  end  came,  as  Rosalind 
had  predicted.  Not  one  line  to  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
engaged  did  Helen  Champion  write,  but  Basil  opened  a  New 
York  paper  one  day,  and  there  he  saw  her  marriage  to  Gordon 
Lacy  recorded. 


iG6  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR 


CHAPTER   II. 

DEYEEEUX    IS    RECALLED. 

So  far  this  narrative  has  followed  the  course  and  endeavored 
to  tell  the  story  of  certain  exceptional  events  which  happened 
within  a  short  space  of  time.  Occasionally  such  periods  occur 
in  life,  but  as  a  general  thing  the  rule  of  existence  is  monotony 
— a  very  depressing  rule  we  are  sometimes  tempted  to  think, 
and  yet  it  may  be  that  God's  providence  appears  in  this,  as  in 
all  else,  were  we  only  clear-sighted  enough  to  recognize  it. 
The  flame  which  is  constantly  fed  by  excitement  would  burn 
out  too  quickly ;  so  perforce  we  must  rest  in  long,  sluggish  calms 
when  day  follows  day,  with  nothing  save  the  ordinary  affairs  of 
life  to  mark  their  passage. 

Such  a  calm  as  this  came  to  Basil  and  Madeleine  after  the 
events  which  ended  in  that  marriage  on  a  crisp  October  morning 
in  New  York.  A  week  later,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Champion 
returned  to  Stansbury,  and  the  former  made  one — only  one — 
allusion  to  his  sister's  marriage  when  speaking  to  Basil,  which 
showed  how  deeply  his  pride  and  sense  of  honor  had  been 
wounded. 

"  I  was  powerless  to  prevent  the  marriage,"  he  said,  "  but 
nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  be  present  at  the  ceremony 
if  she  had  not  been  under  my  protection.  I  told  her  at  the 
church-door  that  she  had  disgraced  herself  by  acting  as  no 
Champion,  to  my  knowledge,  ever  acted  before,  and  I  did  not 
see  her  afterward." 

Then,  before  Basil  could  reply,  he  turned  the  conversation 
abruptly  to  business,  and  the  subject  was  never  mentioned 
between  the  two  men  again. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gordon  Lacy  were  able  to  support  with  cheer- 
ful philosophy  any  disparaging  remarks  which  Stansbury  saw  fit 
to  make  about  them.  In  the  first  place  they  did  not  hear  the 
remarks,  and,  in  the  second  place,  they  would  not  have  cared  if 


DEVEREUX  IS  RECALLED.  4G7 

tliey  had  heard  them.  Both  had  acted  with  due  deliberation 
and  due  regard  to  their  own  interest,  which  is  of  course  the  only 
thing  a  sensible  person  ever  thinks  of  regarding.  Helen  flat- 
tered herself  that  Basil  Severn  had  "  broken  his  heart"  over  her 
loss,  but  Gordon  indulged  in  no  such  fancy  of  Madeleine.  He 
knew  her  better ;  and  sometimes  it  cost  him  a  pang  to  think  how 
complete  her  contempt  for  him  must  be — not  bitter  or  keen,  but 
quiet,  decided,  and  most  sorrowful.  As  time  went  on,  however, 
he  grew  careless  even  of  this  thought,  and  banished  so  effectually 
from  his  heart  the  sweet  face  which  had  once  been  the  li2:ht  of 
his  life,  that  finally  it  ceased  to  haunt  his  memory.  It  is  not 
worth  while  to  follow  the  record  of  his  life — which  indeed  at  the 
present  day  is  still  most  prosperous.  Who,  that  has  looked  atten- 
tively at  the  great  web  of  human  existence,  has  not  seen  many 
such  a  choice  made  as  his — the  lower  path  taken,  the  goods*  of 
this  world  chosen,  self  triumphing  over  honor,  passion  over  faith, 
high  powers  prostituted  to  igTioble  uses,  the  desires  of  the  flesh 
exalted  above  the  aspirations  of  the  spirit  ?  Such  a  choice  is 
usually  crowned  with  success,  but  who  would  not  rather  be 
Bayard  dying  by  the  wayside  with  his  knightly  honor  unstained, 
than  the  victorious  conqueror  and  traitor  who  stood  before  him  ? 

Eighteen  months  passed  very  quietly  for  the  Severns. 
Basil's  position  with  regard  to  the  Carlisle  estate,  which  at  first 
had  seemed  so  anomalous,  fell  into  the  routine  of  accustomed 
things  over  which  people  cease  to  marvel.  In  Madeleine  no  out- 
ward change  of  any  kind  was  apparent — the  serene  grace  of  her 
presence  filled  the  home  in  which  she  had  been  born,  as  it  had 
filled  it  for  many  years,  and  no  one  was  able  to  say,  with  that 
compassionate  interest  which  gossips  love  to  afi'ect,  "  How  dif- 
ferent she  has  been  since  that  afi'air  with  Gordon  Lacj' !  "  Per- 
haps those  who  were  in  sorroAV  found  a  change  in  her,  for  her 
manner  was  even  gentler  and  tenderer  than  of  old,  and  little 
children  never  looked  into  her  face  save  to  smile ;  but  this  had 
been  very  much  the  case  always,  so  it  was  not  singular  enough 
to  be  remarked. 

Of  Devereux  it  may  be  said  that  she  thought  now  and  then, 


i68  A   QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

wondering  a  little,  as  women  will,  if  lie  had  altogether  forgotten 
the  words  which  he  had  uttered  before  going  away — the  resolu- 
tion W'hich  he  had  expressed  with  so  much  impetuous  decision. 
It  is  true  that  she  rebuked  her  own  frivolity  for  indulging  in 
such  conjectures,  and  told  herself  that  he  had  no  doubt  forgot- 
ten and  ignored  every  thing  connected  with  that  past  fancy ; 
but  still,  as  every  woman  will  understand,  it  was  imjDOSsible  not 
to  wonder.  During  the  two  years  which  had  elapsed  since  he 
left  Stansbury,  he  had  'maintained  a  tolerably  regular  corre- 
spondence with  Basil,  and  it  was  very  clear  from  this  that  he 
had,  to  use  his  own  expression, "  kept  steadily  at  the  oar  "  since 
he  had  been  in  Denver.  He  alluded  once  or  twice  to  the  fact 
that  his  friend  and  partner  had  gone  away  for  a  holiday  ;  but 
he  never  spoke  of  any  holiday  for  himself  except  once,  when  he 
said  that  he  had  joined  a  party  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and 
inclosed  a  few  flowers  for  Madeleine,  "  since  I  have  her  violets 
yet,"  he  added.  "  What  nonsense  !  "  said  Madeleine,  when  she 
read  the  letter ;  but  she  did  not  refuse  to  keep  the  blossoms 
which  had  been  gathered  in  the  defiles  of  the  far  "Western 
mountains.  It  struck  her  as  a  little  strange  that  a  man  who  had 
probably  had  half  a  dozen  love-affairs  since  his  untoward  attempt 
at  one  with  herself  should  care  to  remicmber  her  in  this  manner; 
but  she  explained  the  matter  to  her  own  satisfaction  by  reflect- 
ing that  gallantry  of  the  kind  was  no  doubt  natural  to  a  man 
like  Devereux. 

The  second  spring  after  the  departure  of  the  latter,  Basil 
began  to  experience  unaccustomed  difficulties  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  mills.  For  the  first  time  he  had  trouble  with  his 
operatives.  He  had  never  before  known  any  thing  of  the  kind, 
for  he  possessed  in  a  remarkable  degree  that  power  of  governing 
men — of  uniting  kindness  and  consideration  with  perfect  subor- 
dination— which  is  a  special  gift  bestowed  by  Nature  on  special 
men  formed  to  exercise  authority  over  their  fellow-creatures. 
But,  even  in  the  best-drilled  corps,  mutiny  sometimes  appears ; 
and  so  it  was  in  this  instance.  During  the  winter  one  or  two  of 
the  principal  mill-hands  died,  and  their  places  were  supplied  by 


DEVEREUX  IS   RECALLED.  4G9 

new-comers  who  sowed  the  seeds  of  mischief,  and,  after  a  good 
deal  of  indirect  trouble,  they,  "with  two  or  three  aiders  and 
abettors,  were  summarily  dismissed  for  insubordination. 

They  did  not  receive  their  dismissal  quietly.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  complained  loudly,  and  continued  to  iiang  about  the 
neighborhood  of  the  mills,  though  ordered  several  times  to  take 
themselves  oiF.  Once  or  twice  Basil  was  warned  that  they  were 
uttering  threats  against  him.  The  young  man  only  smiled. 
"  Such  blustering  is  not  likely  to  frighten  an  old  soldier,"  he 
said.     "Let  them  do  their  worst." 

They  took  him  at  his  word  ;  but  it  was  a  worst  which  he  had 
not  anticipated.  One  night  the  cry  of  "  Fire  !  "  rang  out  on  the 
Stansbury  streets,  and  people  sprang  from  their  beds  to  see  a 
glare  brighter  than  that  of  day  lighting  up  the  sky,  and  to  be 
told  that  the  Carlisle  Mills  were  burnino-.  What  Basil  felt 
when  he  heard  the  news  it  is  impossible  to  describe.  There  was 
scant  time  for  words ;  but  Madeleine'never  forgot  the  expression 
of  his  face  as  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away  at  full  speed, 
in  advance  of  the  fire-engines,  toward  the  lurid  splendor  of  the 
conflagration.  It  was  a  splendor  dearly  bought,  for  he  found, 
when  he  arrived  at  the  scene  of  action,  that  the  incendiaries 
had  done  their  work  thoroughly.  The  watchman  had  been 
faithless  or  negligent,  and  the  fire  made  great  headway  before 
any  alarm  was  given.  Consequently,  Basil  saw  at  once  that  it 
was  hopeless  to  think  of  saving  the  buildings ;  but  he  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  save  the  valuable  books  and  papers  from  the 
counting-house.  On  this  service  of  danger  he  would  allow  no 
one  to  accompany  him;  but,  having  stationed  outside  two  or 
three  faithful  men  to  receive  what  he  was  able  to  bring,  he 
entered  the  burning  building  alone.  Three  times  he  came  out 
with  his  arms  loaded,  and  three  times  he  returned.  The  fourth 
time  there  was  a  tumultuous  shout  from  the  assembled  multi- 
tude when  he  appeared  ;  but  it  suddenly  died  away  into  awed 
stillness,  for,  before  he  could  cross  the  threshold,  he  was  struck 
down  by  a  falling  timber,  while  rolling  smoke  and  leaping  flame 
appeared  to  sweep  over  him. 


470  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  of  horror — then  half  a  dozen 
intrepid  men  rushed  forward  to  the  rescue.  Scorched,  begrimed, 
senseless,  thej  drew  him  out — his  right  arm  doubled  under  him 
and  evidentl}'^  broken.  After  this  the  fire  had  very  much  its 
own  waj,  and  finished  its  terrible  work  unmolested.  Even  the 
engines  lost  heart  and  ceased  to  play,  except  on  the  cottages  of 
the  operatives,  which  they  drenched  thoroughly,  and  so  saved 
from  destruction — the  inhabitants  of  these  cottages  meanwhile 
stood  by  in  despair.  It  was  their  bread  which  the  cruel  flames 
were  devouring,  and  when  they  heard  that  Mr.  Severn  had  been 
killed,  or  something  very  near  it,  despair  broke  into  lamentation. 
Women  sobbed  and  men  cursed.  It  was  a  scene  to  be  long 
remembered — the  wild  glare  of  the  fire  on  excited  faces,  the 
uproar  of  many  voices,  the  roaring  and  crackling  of  flames,  the 
crash  of  falling  walls,  and  the  imprecations  poured  forth  on  the 
-authors  of 'such  a  work.  If  one  of  the  supposed  incendiaries 
had  ventured  to  show  his  face,  it  certainly  would  not  have  been 
well  for  his  neck.  Angry  men  are  not,  as  a  rule,  inclined  to  try 
suspicion  by  the  test  of  reason,  nor  to  remember  that  law  of 
fair  play  which  demands  that  both  sides  shall  be  heard 

Meanwhile,  Basil,  still  senseless,  was  taken  back  to  Stans- 
bury  and  placed  in  the  hands  of  his  sister,  and  the  doctor  who 
was  hastily  summoned.  The  latter  pronounced  his  injuries  very 
serious  indeed.  Concussion  of  the  brain  is  in  itself  no  trifle  ; 
but  besides  this — from  which  he  could  not  recover  for  some 
time — the  young  man  was  severely  burned,  his  shoulder  was 
dislocated  and  his  arm  broken.  So,  when  the  morning  sunlight 
reddened  the  smoking  ruins  of  the  Carlisle  Mills,  it  found  him 
unconscious  both  of  the  destruction  which  had  been  wrought 
and  of  his  own  danger. 

That  unconsciousness  and  danger  lasted  for  days,  and  it  was 
upon  Champion  that  all  the  labor  resulting  from  the  fire  fell. 
lie  started  swift  and  hot  pursuit  after  the  suspected  incendiaries, 
who  had  one  and  all  decamped,  and  he  attended  as  far  as  possi- 
ble to  the  loose  odds  and  ends  of  business  demanding  attention. 
The  position  was  not  ver}"-  much  to  his  taste,  however,  and,  com- 


DEYEREUX  IS  RECALLED.  47I 

ing  in  one  day,  lie  electrified  Madeleine  by  asking  if  she  did  not 
think  Devereux  ouo-ht  to  be  summoned. 

"  I  have  not  thought  of  it  at  all,"  Madeleine  answered,  "  but 
why  should  he  be  ?  You  know  that  he  has  never  claimed  the 
property,  nor  even  expressed  the  least  interest  in  it." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Champion,  whom  any  allusion  to  the 
matter  always  irritated,  "  I  suppose  it  is  his — if  it  can  be  said  to 
be  anybody's.  Basil  will  be  in  no  condition  to  attend  to  any  thing 
for  weeks — ^perhaps  for  months.  If  it  were  his  business  or  yours, 
I  would  attend  to  it  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  but  I  have  no 
time  to  spare  in  looking  after  Mr.  Devereux's  interests." 

"I  understand,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Something  must  be  done, 
of  course.  As  soon  as  Basil  is  better,  I  wdll  ask  him  what  it 
must  be." 

Basil  was  a  little  better  the  next  day,  and  opened  the  con- 
versation himself  by  asking  what  had  been  the  result  of  the 
fire,  and  if  various  matters,  which  he  mentioned,  had  received 
any  attention. 

"  James  Champion,  assisted  by  Mr.  ^Yillis  " — the  latter  was 
foreman  of  the  manufactory — "have  done  their  best  to  put 
aifairs  in  order,"  answered  Madeleine.  "  Two  of  the  men  who 
are  supposed  to  have  fired  the  mills  have  been  apprehended  and 
committed  for  trial." 

"  I  doubt  if  any  thing  positive  can  be  proved  against  them," 
said  Basil.  "  But  I  wish  you  would  send  for  Willis  to  come 
here  to  me :  I  must  give  him  some  directions." 

"  You  must  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  returned  Madeleine. 
"  The  doctor  says  you  are  not  to  be  worried  or  excited.  Do 
let  the  mills  alone  !  They  are  burned,  and  that  is  an  end 
of  it." 

"That  is  not  an  end  of  it,"  replied  Basil.  "You  don't 
understand — there  is  an  enormous  amount  of  business  to  be 
transacted.     Oh,  if  I  were  only  not  lying  here  incapacitated  ! " 

"  Whose  fault  is  it  that  you  are  incapacitated  ?  "  deraan-dcvl 
Madeleine.     "  If  you  had  not  been  so  rash — " 

"  Don't  let  me  hear  any  thing  about  that !  "  said  Basil  with  a 


472  A   QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

groan.  "  Never  hit  a  man  when  he  is  down — and  I  am  down 
unmistakably  just  now." 

Madeleme  reflected  for  a  moment  and  tiien  decided  to  men- 
tion Champion's  suggestion.  "Do  you  think  Mr.  Devereux 
ouo'ht  to  be  informed  of  the  loss  of  the  mills  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  He  has  taken  so  little  interest  in  the  property  that  it  scarcely 
seems  worth  while,  and  yet — they  are,  or  were,  his,  you  know." 

"  Of  course,  he  ought  to  be  informed,"  said  Basil.  "  Has 
nobody  written  to  him  ?  Whether  he  takes  interest  or  whether 
he  does  not,  the  property  belongs  to  him,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  let 
him  know  of  such  a  loss  as  this.  Write  at  once,  Madeleine.  Tell 
him  all  about  it,  and  how  I  am  situated." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Madeleine,  quietly.  She  had  no  fancy 
for  the  task,  but  it  did  not  occur  to  her  for  a  moment  to  shirk  it. 
Why  should  she  not  write  to  Devereux,  as  she  would  write  to 
any  other  man,  a  letter  of  business  ?  This  was  what  she  asked 
herself — indignant  with  the  folly  that  made  her,  even  in  thought, 
hesitate  for  a  moment. 

She  brought  writing-materials  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  and, 
assisted  by  Basil's  dictation,  this  was  what  she  wrote : 

"  Dear  Ms.  Devereux  :  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  that  the 
mills  have  been  burned  down.  Every  one  thinks  that  the  fire 
was  the  work  of  incendiaries,  but  there  is  no  positive  proof  to 
support  this  ojDinion.  It  rests  entirely  on  what,  I  believe,  you 
lawyers  call  presumptive  evidence.  Basil  discharged  several 
hands  for  insubordination  a  fortnight  or  two  ago,  and  instead  of 
going  away  they  remained  in  the  neighborhood,  and  more  than 
once  were  heard  to  utter  threats  against  him.  He  disregarded 
this,  because  he  thought  they  only  threatened  him  personally. 
If  he  had  thought  of  the  mills,  he  would  have  redoubled  his 
usual  watchfulness.  On  last  Thursday  night,  between  midnight 
and  mornino-  the  alarm  of  fire  roused  us — the  mills  were  in 
flames.  When  Basil  reached  them  he  was  too  late  to  do  any 
thing  except  make  a  desperate  effort  to  save  the  books  and 
papers.     This  he  succeeded  in  doing.     Very  little  which  wa"* 


DEVEREUX  IS  RECALLED.  473 

valuable  iu  that  line  was  lost,  but  he  was  severely  injured,  and 
is  consequently  unable  to  write  to  you.  His  right  arm  was 
broken,  his  shoulder  dislocated,  and  his  burns  are  very  serious 
and  painful.  He  bids  me  tell  you  that  the  loss  is  partly  covered 
by  insurance,  but  that  it  will  nevertheless  prove  very  heavy. 
x\s  soon  as  he  is  able  to  do  so — which  cannot,  however,  be  for 
some  time — he  will  send  you  a  detailed  statement.  The  accu- 
mulated income  of  the  last  two  years  will  warrant,  he  says,  the 
immediate  rebuilding  of  the  mills,  and  he  hopes  that  you  will 
write  as  soon  as  possible  and  let  him  know  your  wishes  on  the 
subject. 

*'  Pray  pardon  me  for  adding  that  T,  also,  hope  you  will  do 
so.  I  am  sure  you  must  feel  that  it  is  scarcely  generous  to 
throw  on  my  brother  all  the  weight  of  responsibility,  as  well  as 
of  labor.  During  the  last  two  years  he  has  toiled  faithfully, 
with  no  sign  of  interest  or  encouragement  from  yourself;  but 
now  that  he  is  disabled  and  suffering,  I  am  confident  that  your 
kindness  and  sense  of  justice  will  conquer  your  pride,  and  that 
you  will  give  him  the  aid  which  he  asks  and  needs — the  aid  of 
sympathy  and  direction.  That  the  presence  of  the  owner  of  the 
property  is  very  much  needed  here  at  present,  you  may  perhaps 
imagine ;  but  Basil  hesitates  to  ask  you  to  come,  not  knowing  in 
what  spirit  you  may  receive  the  request,  and  I  can  only  say,  for 
him  as  for  myself,  that  if  you  come  at  all  it  must  be  to  assume 
the  duties  as  well  as  the  rights  of  ownership. 

"  I  cannot  close  without  congratulating  you  on  your  success 
in  your  profession,  and  with  the  kindest  regards  of  my  mother 
and  Basil,  I  am, 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  Madeleine  Severx." 

It  will  be  perceived  that  a  more  altogether  formal  and  com 
monplace  letter  could  scarcely  have   been   written,  yet,  when 
Devereux  received  it,  his  heart  leaped  up  like  a  school-boy's.    It 
is  trite  to  say  that  absence  extinguishes  a  weak  passion  and 
deepens  a  strong  one,  but  many  trite  things  are  true  things— 


474  A  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

and  this  is  one  of  tliem.  Two  years  had  done  notliing  toward 
extinguisliing  that  "  fancy  "  which  Miss  Severn  had  treated  so 
severel3\  On  the  contrary,  it  had  been  so  materially  strength- 
ened that  Devereux  had  ceased  to  ask  himself  to  what  order  of 
passion  it  belonged.  It  is  only  when  men  are  doubtful,  when  it 
is  sentiment  not  love  which  has  come  to  them,  that  they  analyze 
and  dissect  their  hearts  as  a  botanist  dissects  a  flower.  With 
certainty  comes  repose.  Let  a  man  desire  something  as  a 
supreme  good,  and  he  will  cease  to  ask  why  or  how  he  desires 
it.  Still  it  must  be  admitted  that,  notwithstanding  all  he  had 
(very  sincerely)  said  when  leaving  Stansbury,  Devereux — warned 
by  much  experience — had  not  been  altogether  sure  of  his  own 
constancy.  But  he  was  sure  of  it  on  the  April  morning  when  he 
unexpectedly  found  on  his  table  that  letter  addressed  in  Made- 
leine's fair,  clear  writing.  He  tore  open  the  envelope,  wonder- 
ing what  had  moved  her  to  write,  and  grateful  for  the  cause, 
whatever  that  cause  mio-ht  be.  The  news  which  the  letter  con- 
tained  did  not  in  any  manner  diminish  the  exhilaration  of  his 
spirit.  He  felt  absolutely  grateful  to  the  incendiaries  who  had 
fired  the  mills,  and  his  resolution  was  taken  immediately.  He 
would  go  to  Stansbury :  she  wished  it,  and  that  was  enough. 
When  his  friend  came  in  presently,  he  announced  this  reso- 
lution : 

"  Those  mills  have  been  burned  down.  Hurst,"  he  said,  "  and 
Severn  has  been  badly  injured.  I  fear  I  must  go  to  Stansbury 
and  look  after  matters.  It  hardly  seems  fair  for  that  poor  fel- 
low to  have  all  the  trouble  of  ownership  without  any  of  the 
profit." 

"  He  must  be  an  uncommon  fellow  to  fill  such  a  position,'' 
said  Mr.  Hurst.  "  I  have  been  convinced  of  that  for  a  long 
time.  But  I  thought  you  were  determined  never  to  claim  the 
property." 

"  I  never  shall — in  the  manner  they  desire.  But  matters 
can't  possibly  go  on  in  thig  unsatisfactory,  unsettled  fashion 
forever.  Something  definite  must  be  decided  upon,  and  there- 
fore I  must  go  to  Stansbury." 


A  LOST  IDEAL.  475 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  see  you  go — I  fear  you'll  never  come 
back." 

"  Don't  fear  any  thing  of  the  kind.  I  shall  come  back  as 
certainly  as  the  sun  is  in  the  sky.  I  could  not,  if  I  would,  re- 
turn to  my  old,  idle,  aimless  existence ;  you  have  bitten  me  too 
thoroughly  with  the  mania  for  hard  work." 

"  As  far  as  that  is  concerned,  you  have  gone  beyond  me," 
said  Mr.  Hurst,  "  and  it  would  certainly  be  a  pity  if  you  gave 
up  your  profession  again,  now  that  you  are  so  likely  to  mount 
in  it." 

"  Nothing  shall  induce  me  to  give  it  up,"  said  Devereux. 
"  You  ought  to  know  me  well  enough  to  be  sure  of  that." 

"  One  never  knows  a  man  w^ell  enough  to  be  sure  what  he 
will  or  will  not  do,  for  the  sake  of  a  woman,"  returned  the 
other,  sio;nificantlv. 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense,  as  men  always  do  when  they 
don't  know  what  they  are  talking  about !  "  said  Devereux. 
"  Because  you  see  a  woman's  writing  on  this  letter,  you  leap  to 
a  conclusion — like  a  woman.  Miss  Severn  has  written  to  me 
because  her  brother  is  unable  to  do  so — that  is  all." 

"  That  may  be  a  good  deal,"  said  Mr.  Hurst,  glancing  sus- 
piciously at  Miss  Severn's  letter. 


^  CHAPTER    III. 

A  LOST   IDEAL. 

It  was  the  last  week  in  April  when  Devereux  arrived  in 
Stansbury,  and  the  weather  was  perfect.  The  earth  green  with 
its  first  delicate  emerald,  and  bright  with  countless  blossoms, 
the  air  rich  with  fragrance,  tlie  skies  arching  softly  in  their 
misty  blue,  and  dropping  light  tears  upon  the  turf,  roses  blush- 
ing, feather}'-  leaves  rustling,  light  and  warmth  and  odor  every- 
where— this  is  what  April  means  in  the  South. 


47G  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

This  was  wliat  it  meant  on  the  particular  day  vvlien  Devereux 
found  himself  once  more  entering  the  familiar  Severn  gate.  An 
odd  home  feeling  came  over  him  as  he  did  so — perhaps  because 
the  house  was  so  eminently  one  of  those  which  we  are  apt  to 
associate  with  the  idea  of  home.  He  remembered  how  he  had 
seen  it  first  with  the  mellow  October  sunlight  streaming  on  it, 
and  suiting  admirably,  he  had  thought,  its  look  of  mellow  age. 
Now,  was  it  that  his  mood  had  changed,  or  why  did  the  tender 
beauty  of  Nature's  awakening  life,  the  capricious  glory  of  her 
April  smile,  seem  to  suit  as  well  the  mossy  roof,  under  which 
succeeding  generations  had  lived  and  loved,  suifered  and  died  ? 
Certainly  there  seemed  entire  harmony  between  the  season  and 
the  old  house  which  had  witnessed  the  beginning  and  the  end 
of  many  jubilant  springs.  The  trees  drooping  over  it  were  half 
clad  in  dainty  leafage,  the  ivy  had  put  forth  its  lighter  green, 
high  over  the  portico  a  yellow  jessamine  clambered,  and  swung 
its  fragrant  bells — 

"  Like  golden  censers  on  the  golden  day." 

Basil,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  his  shoulder  bandaged,  and 
his  scorched  face  not  improved  by  having  all  the  hair  and  beard 
as  much  as  possible  cut  away,  was  lying  on  a  low,  broad  couch, 
by  one  of  the  sitting-room  windows,  when  the  sound  of  advanc- 
ing steps  on  the  gravel-walk  made  him  turn  his  head.  "  Some 
one  is  coming,  Madeleine,"  he  said.     "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

Madeleine  laid  down  the  novel  she  had  been  reading  aloud, 
and  glanced  out  of  the  open  window.  She,  too,  heard  the  step, 
but  the  jessamine  was  so  luxuriant  that  she  could  not  see  be- 
'yond  its  wall  of  green  and  bell-like  flowers.  Lance,  who  was 
dozing  just  outside  the  window,  sprang  up  and  darted  forward 
with  a  growl,  which  changed  the  next  instant  to  a  whine  of 
recognition.  When  she  heard  this  and  a  voice  saying,  "  Why, 
Lance,  old  fellow  !  are  you  still  here  ?  "  she  knew  who  had  come. 
For  an  instant — not  longer  than  a  heart-beat — she  was  silent, 
then  she  said,  "  It  is  Mr.  Devereux." 

"  Devereux  ! — is  it  ?  "  said  Basil.     "  He  has  come  quickly 


A  LOST   IDEAL.  477 

To  explain  which  it  may  be  stated  that  Devereux  had  tele- 
graphed the  news  of  his  departure  from  Denver. 

"  Yes,"  said  Madeleine.  She  spoke  absently,  for  she  was 
debating  whether  or  not  slie  should  leave  the  room  before  he 
rang  the  door-bell.  There  was  time  enough  to  do  so,  but,  as 
was  to  have  been  expected  from  her  good  sense,  she  decided  in 
the  negative  ;  and  so  it  chanced  that  the  first  thing  Devereux 
saw  when  he  entered  was  a  full,  soft,  well-remembered  gaze 
shining  out  of  two  brown  eyes. 

For  a  man  of  the  world,  his  greetings  were  rather  incoher- 
ent, but  there  Avas  no  room  to  doubt  one  thing — that  he  was 
glad  to  be  back.  He  not  only  said  so  at  first,  but — after  he  had 
sufficiently  inquired  into  Basil's  condition — he  repeated  the  state- 
ment. 

"  It  is  strange  that  I  should  feel  so  much  as  If  I  had  come 
home,"  he  said.  "  It  has  been  many  years  since  I  had  the  same 
sensation  about  any  other  place  ;  and  I  have  lived  in  various 
places  much  longer  than  I  ever  lived  in  Stansbury." 

"  You  have  lived  in  Denver  four  times  as  long,"  said  Basil. 
"  By-the-way,  how  do  you  like  that  place  ?  " 

"  Very  much  in  some  respects — not  at  all  in  others.  Yet  I 
fancy  I  shall  live  there  always.  A  roving  life  is  pleasant  enough 
when  a  man  is  quite  young,  but  as  he  grows  older — especially 
if  he  has  any  ambition  to  rise — he  must  have  a  definite  place 
and  fixed  home  in  the  world." 

"  When  I  knew  you  first  it  w^as  your  favorite  belief  that  j^ou 
had  no  ambition." 

"  I  have  learned  a  great  many  things  since  then,"  said  Deve- 
reux, glancing  at  Madeleine. 

He  thought,  as  he  did  so,  how  little  two  years  had  changed 

her.     The  sweet,  earnest  ej^es  ;  the  gentle,  soft-cut  mouth  ;  the 

stately  grace  and  charm  of  her  manner — how  well  he  remembered 

all,  and  how  exactly  he  found  them  as  he  had  left  them  !     If  he 

had  doubted  before  seeing  her  whether  or  not  his  heart  was  in 

her  possession,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  doubt  it  after 

her  hand  had  touched  his,  her  voice  had  spoken  his  name.    Look- 
2] 


478  A  QUESTION  OF   HOXOR. 

ing  at  her,  he  was  conscious  of  somethiDg  very  different  from 
any  of  those  passionate  fevers  of  the  earth  with  w^hich,  like 
many  another  man,  he  had  been  too  familiar.  It  was  as  if  his 
soul  rose  and  yearned  toward  its  highest  good  and  best  inspii-a- 
tion — yearned  with  a  strength  which  had  in  it  something  of  the 
calm  of  a  great  resolution. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  not  come  back  to  be  disgusted 
with  our  quiet  life,"  she  said,  meeting  his  glance  with  a  com- 
posure which  he  knew  enough  of  women  to  be  aware  did  not 
augur  well  for  his  hopes.  ''  The  fire  was  our  last  great  event,  and 
you  must  not  fancy  that  3-ou  can  escajoe  it  long.  You  will  be 
deluged  with  accounts  of  it — indeed,  I  see  Basil  is  ready  to  begin 
now,  so  I  shall  leave  you  to  his  mercy,  with  a  recommendation 
of  patience." 

"  One  minute,  Madeleine,"  said  Basil,  as  she  rose.  "  Send  a 
messenger  to  the  hotel  for  Mr.  Devereux's  traps — that  is  the 
correct  Western  phrase,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  added,  turning  to  that  gen- 
tleman. *'  You  must  stay  with  us — I  will  take  no  denial.  You 
said  in  your  telegram  that  you  were  coming  to  serve  as  my 
riofht  hand,  and  what  the  deuce  could  I  do  with  a  rio-ht  hand  at 
the  Stansbury  Hotel  ?  " 

'*  Probably  Mr.  Devereux  did  not  expect  to  be  taken  so 
literally  and  promptly  at  his  word,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a 
laugh. 

The  low,  sweet  cadence  set  Devereux  at  his  ease  immediately. 
It  told  him  that  she  desired  him  to  stay,  and  therefore  his  mo- 
mentary hesitation  was  at  an  end.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  he 
said.  "  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  be  taken  at  my  word — as 
literally  and  promptly  as  possible.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  trouble 
you.  Miss  Severn." 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  that,"  she  replied.  "  I  onl}''  hope  we  can 
make  you  comfortable.  I  may  send  for  your — traps,  then? 
Thanks." 

In  this  way,  rather  to  his  own  surprise,  and  much  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  Devereux  found  himself  settled  under  the  Severn 
roof,  and  admitted  to  that  informal  family  companionship  which 


A  LOST  IDEAL.  479 

is  sometimes  a  very  pleasant  thing,  and  sometimes  exceedingly 
the  reverse.  To  be  made  to  feel  at  home  and  considered  "  quite 
one  of  the  family  "  is  not  ahvays  the  best  luck  which  can  befall 
a  stranger.  There  are  families  which  do  not  appear  to  advan- 
tage when  viewed  en  deshabille  j  they  should  be  seen  only  in 
the  robes  of  state  with  which  they  adorn  themselves  for  the 
inspection  of  Mrs.  Grundy.  To  this  class  the  Severns  did  not 
belong.  Those  charming  manners,  which  were  so  universally 
admired,  were  not  worn  by  them  as  a  society  mask,  but  showed 
to  best  advantacre  within  the  threshold  of  home.  Devereux 
soon  appreciated  this.  Though  by  nature  and  training  indis- 
posed to  enthusiasm,  he  told  himself  that  his  taste  had  never 
been  so  thoroughly  pleased  before. 

The  possession  of  the  Carlisle  estate  remained,  meanwhile, 
an  open  and  tacitly  avoided  question.  Devereux  jDroved  exceed- 
ingly capable  and  energetic  in  transacting  business  ;  but  he 
acted  altogether  under  Basil's  direction,  serving  as  a  most  effi- 
cient right  hand,  but  carefully  avoiding  any  thing  which  com- 
mitted him  to  an  acknowledgment  of  ownership.  Both  Basil 
and  Madeleine  observed  this,  but  neither  pressed  the  matter. 
"It  will  right  itself  after  a  while,"  the  former  said,  and  the  lat- 
ter, it  is  to  be  supposed,  acquiesced. 

They  were  pleasant  days  —  days  with  an  almost  idylUc 
charm — which  followed.  Basil's  injuries  made  him  a  prisoner  ; 
but  it  was  not  an  irksome  captivity  when  lightened  by  Deve- 
reux's  labor  and  Madeleine's  companionship.  The  three  spent 
most  of  their  days  and  all  of  their  evenings  together.  Occa- 
sionally Rosalind  dropped  in — moved  more  by  curiosity  than 
any  thing  else — and  she  was  soon  shrewd  enough  to  perceive 
what  was  likely  to  be  the  end.  She  told  her  husband  that  it  was 
evident  Devereux  meant  to  marry  Madeleine  as  he  had  endeav- 
ored to  marry  Mary  Carlisle,  from  motives  of  interest, 

"  That  may  be,"  replied  Mr.  Champion  ;  "  but  what  are  the 
motives  of  interest  ?     The  fortune  is  already  his." 

"  But  he  IS  too  proud  to  take  it,"  said  Rosalind,  "  so  he 
thinks  he  will  take  Madeleine  along  with  it  as  a  compromise." 


480  A   QUESTION'   OF  HONOR. 

The  man  credited  with  this  acute  view  of  things  was,  mean- 
while, more  thoroughly  discouraged  with  regard  to  his  suit  than 
he  had  been  even  during  those  two  years  in  Colorado.  Tlien 
he  had  thought  that  time  was  working  for  him,  and  that  when 
he  returned  at  last  Madeleine  might  be  ready  to  listen.  Kow 
he  felt  that  if  he  spoke  it  would  only  be  to  receive  the  same 
cold,  gentle  kindness  which  had  sent  him  away  before.  Feeling 
this,  he  asked  himself,  in  a  fit  of  salutary  humility,  what  right 
he  had  to  expect  any  thing  else  ;  he  looked  dispassionately  at 
his  character,  his  past  life,  and  turned  from  both  with  a  sense  of 
weary  disgust.  There  was  no  consolation  in  remembering  how 
many  women  had  regarded  him  with  favor — how  many  hearts  he 
had  lightly  won,  and  as  lightly  lost.  These  were  not  women 
like  Madeleine  Severn ;  they  were  not  hearts  which  had  more 
than  idle  fancy  to  bestow.  This  sentiment  of  honest  self-con- 
tempt grew  so  strong  that  presently  it  found  expression,  as  all 
strono;  sentiments  do. 

May  had  come  with  a  rush  of  summer  warmth,  a  glow  of 
more  than  summer  beauty.  The  close  of  a  day  of  intense  heat 
found  Madeleine,  Basil,  and  Devereux  in  the  garden.  As  the 
sun  sunk,  they  had  adjourned  there  for  coolness,  and  they  found 
at  least  quiet  and  fragrance.  Roses  were  everywhere — for  it  is 
May,  not  June,  which  is  the  month  of  roses  in  the  South — and 
their  perfume,  together  with  that  of  honeysuckle  and  jasmine, 
loaded  the  air.  The  little  group  of  three  were  seated  on  garden- 
chairs  on  a  grassy  plot  where  a  large  magnolia — the  finest  in 
Stansbury — grew.  Among  its  glossy  leaves  the  pure  white 
blossoms  were  opening,  exhaling  the  richest  fragrance  of  all 
— indeed,  so  rich  that  Basil  pronounced  it  almost  overpow- 
ering. 

"  I  do  not  like  such  highly-perfumed  flowers  as  the  magnolia, 
the  tuberose,  and  the  cape-jessamine,"  he  said.  "  Give  me  some- 
thing that  is  faint  as  well  as  sweet." 

"  Violets,  for  instance,"  said  Devereux. 

"  Yes — and  roses.  One  cannot  have  too  much  of  their  odor. 
See  those  Madeleine  is  wearing — we  know  just  how  subtly  fra- 


A  LOST   IDEAL.  481 

grant  tliey  are,  though  we  can  perceive  nothmg  but  this  stun- 
ning magnolia." 

"  Roses  suit  Miss  Severn — and  so  do  violets,"  said  Devereux, 
looking  at  her.  She  made  a  picture  just  then  worth  looking  at. 
Dressed  in  white,  with  roses  on  her  breast  and  in  her  soft  brown 
hair,  she  was  verj  near  beauty — quite  near  enough,  the  man  who 
was  regarding  her  thought.  He  would  not,  if  he  could,  have 
changed  a  line  of  the  graceful  figure,  or  a  tint  of  the  delicate 
face.     She  smiled  as  she  niet  his  eyes. 

"You  say  very  kind  things  to  me,"  she  answered.  "But 
how  lanc;uid  this  sudden  heat  makes  one,  does  it  not  ?  I  ousrht 
to  water  my  flowers,  and  instead  I  am  sitting  here  idly." 

"  Let  me  water  them  for  you,"  said  Devereux.    • 

"I  don't  think  either  of  you  need  trouble  about  the  flowers," 
said  Basil.  "  There  is  going  to  be  rain  within  the  next  three 
hours.  Look  at  that  cloud  in  the  southwest.  Keep  still  and  be 
comfortable  !  It  is  not  weather  to  exert  one's  self  unnecessarily. 
Madeleine,  will  you  light  me  a  cigar  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  dreadfully  spoiled  when  you  recover 
the  use  of  your  arm,"  said  Madeleine,  taking  the  cigar-case 
which  he  extended  with  his  left  hand.  "  Mr.  Devereux,  is  this 
a  good  cigar  ?  You  must  give  me  a  match  to  light  it — and  I 
cut  ofi"  the  end,  do  I  not  ?  Now  " — after  Basil  had  received  it 
and  found  it  satisfactory — "  may  I  light  one  for  you  ?  " 

"  For  me  !  "  said  Devereux.  "  Are  vou  in  earnest  ?  I  shall 
be  greatly  honored — but  how  good  of  you  !  " 

"  ^Yhj  so  ? "  she  asked,  laughing,  as  she  selected  another 
cigar.  "  If  we  were  in  Spain  I  should  make  3'ou  a  cigarette. 
Do  you  like  cigarettes  ?  I  know  how  to  make  them  admirably 
—do  I  not,  Basil  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,"  said  Basil,  in  undemonstrative  brotherly  fash- 
ion, "  but  you  need  a  particular  kind  of  tobacco  for  cigarettes." 

"  Some  day  I  shall  ask  you  to  make  some  for  me,"  said 
Devereux,  "  but  at  present  I  am  very  grateful  for  my  cigar." 

She  had  lighted  and  handed  it  to  him  with  a  grace  which  no 
Spanish  woman  could  have  excelled.     Her  smile  thrilled  him  to 


4S2  A   QUESTION   OF  HOXOR. 

the  heart,  but  only  to  cast  his  hopes  more  utterly  to  the  ground. 
Indeed,  he  thought  despondently  that  he  had  no  hope  whatever. 
The  very  frankness  and  sweetness  of  her  manner  filled  him  with 
a  sense  of  despair.  In  all  his  experience  he  had  never  known 
any  woman  treat  the  man  she  loved  with  such  calm,  unembar- 
rassed kindness. 

Evening  deepened,  and  dusk — the  magical  dusk  of  May — ■ 
crept  softly  round  them.  A  mocking-bird  was  singing  in  the 
crest  of  the  magnolia  like  an  incarnate  spirit  of  melody.  The 
odor  of  tobacco  mingled  with  the  odor  of  flowers,  and  along  the 
verge  of  the  southwestern  horizon  fitful  flashes  of  electricity 
began  to  play.  Basil  rose  after  a  while  and  strolled  away,  but 
Madeleine  and  Devereux  kept  their  seats.  "  Exercise  is  too  over- 
heating," said  the  former,  and  the  latter  answered,  "It  is  pleas- 
anter  here  than  anywhere  else." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  after  this — silence  which 
Madeleine's  voice  broke.  "  You  must  let  me  thank  you,  Mr. 
Devereux,"  she  said,  "  for  all  your  kind  service  to  Basil.  What 
he  would  have  done  without  vou  durino-  these  last  few  weeks,  I 
do  not  know  ! " 

"I  am  glad  if  I  have  been  of  service  to  him,"  said  Devereux. 
"  In  my  useless  life,  to  be  of  service  to  somebody  is  a  novelty 
and  luxury.  But  you  forget  that  your  brother  has  a  right  to  all 
that  I  have  given," 

She  did  not  commit  the  blunder  of  asking  what  right,  but  sbe 
answered  the  other  part  of  his  remark :  "  Why  do  you  always 
speak  of  yourself  in  such  a  depreciating  manner?"  she  asked. 
"  I  do  not  like  to  hear  it.  If  any  one  else  spoke  so,  I  might 
think  it  a  pardonable  affectation,  but  I  know  you  better  than  to 
suspect  such  a  thing,  so  I  am  sure  it  is  honest.  But  I  am  also 
sure  it  is  unjust.  Why  is  your  life  less  useful  than  the  lives  of 
other  men  ?  " 

"  My  life  is  useless  because  I  live  for  no  one  but  myself,"  he 
answered.  "  I  often  think  that  if  I  had  been  killed  in  battle  it 
wouM  have  been  the  best  thing  that  could  have  befallen  me. 
My  life  was  very  young  then,  and  a  'death-bed  of  fame'  would 


A  LOST   IDEAL.  4S3 

have  redeemed  its  errors — but  there  is  something  suggestive  of 
anti-climax  in  coming  safely  through  the  rain  of  bullets  which 
sent  many  a  hero  to  heaven — your  brother  and  my  brother 
among  the  number — to  spend  the  best  years  of  youth  as  an  idle 
trifler  and  sybarite." 

"Why  do  you  say  such  harsh  things  of  yourself?  I  think 
they  are  very  unjust." 

"Do  you?" — he  spoke  eagerly — "but  you  said  them  once 
yourself." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  I  am  sorry  if  I  was  so  rude.  But 
I  learned  long  ago  that  I  am  not  infallible." 

"  You  were  perfectly  right,  however,  in  that  case,"  he  went  on, 
with  the  humility  and  despondency  of  his  heart  finding  faithful 
echo  in  his  voice.  "  I  did  not  appreciate  how  right  at  the  time 
— but  I  do  now.  I  have  squandered  my  fortune  and  wasted  my 
youth ;  I  am  not  necessary  in  the  least  degree  to  the  comfort  or 
happiness  of  any  human  being.  I  can  give  no  reason  for  my 
existence." 

"  The  best  reason  is  that  God  bestowed  it  on  you,"  said 
Madeleine,  in  her  reverent  tones.  "  But  I  repeat  again  that  you 
judge  yourself  too  hardly — nothing  is  more  necessary  than  that 
we  should  have  patience  vydh  ourselves.  It  will  not  do  to  give 
way  to  disgust  and  contempt  of  our  own  shortcomings,  else 
there  would  be  hours  for  all  of  us  when  we  could  scarcely  bear 
to  live." 

"  There  is  certainly  a  great  deal  of  folly  in  abusing  one's 
self,"  said  Devereux,  a  little  grimly.  "Do  you  remember  the 
advice  which  an  old  diplomatist  gave  Prosper  Merimee,  '  Never 
speak  evil  of  yourself :  your  friends  will  speak  enough '  ?  " 

"  And  I  suppose  you  add,  like  that  ingenuous  and  amiable 
gentleman — Merimee,  I  mean — that  your  great  virtue  is  mod- 
esty, that  you  carry  it  to  excess." 

"  No — as  a  rule,  only  very  vain  people  claim  to  be  modest. 
A  truly  modest  man  knows  how  vain  he  is." 

"  That  is  paradoxical,  but  true,  I  think.  So,  being  a  naodest 
man,  you  know  that  you  are  vain  ?  " 


484  A  QUESTION  OF   HONOR. 

"  Insufferably  vain  sometimes — at  others,  a  flash  of  wisdom 
comes  to  me  like  an  inspiration.  I  see  myself  in  my  true  colors, 
and  then  no  longer  wonder  at  an}'  failure  which  life  has  brought 
or  can  bring  me." 

"Humility  is  wholesome,"  said  Madeleine,  "but  it  should 
not  be  suffered  to  grow  morbid.  Take  care  that  yours  does  not 
become  so.  When  you  have  fallen  hopelessly  in  your  own 
esteem,  come  to  me  and  perhaps  I  may  assist  you  back  to  proper 
self-appreciation." 

"You  should  not  tempt  me  by  such  an  offer — especially 
since  I  cannot  fall  lower  in  my  own  esteem  than  I  am  at 
present." 

"Ah!"  she  laughed  softly.  "Then  let  me  see  if  I  cannot 
reinstate  you.  I  think — indeed,  I  know — that  you  are  kindly, 
generous,  and  unselfish.  Can  one  desire  a  better  foundation  on 
which  to  build  a  character  than  those  qualities  ?  " 

"  If  I  possess  them,  they  are  what  your  theologians  call 
natural  virtues :  I  deserve  no  credit  for  them." 

"  Few  of  us  deserve  any  credit  for  the  little  good  that  may 
be  in  us  ! — few  are  wise  enough  to  cultivate  virtues  as  we  may 
cultivate  flowers.  An  amiable  character  is  often  as  much  God's 
gift  as  a  beautiful  face — but  we  love  both." 

"  You  are  kindness  itself.  Miss  Severn.  You  are  too  kind, 
indeed.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  understand — but  that  is  im- 
possible." 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  silence. 
Then  suddenly  came  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  a  quick,  rattling 
clap  of  thunder.  Madeleine  was  perhaps  not  sorry  for  an  excuse 
to  rise.  She  felt  that  the  conversation  had  wandered  to  the 
brink  of  possibilities  which  were  best  avoided. 

"Basil  was  a  true  weather-prophet  for.  once,"  she  said. 
"  Usuall}'-  his  prognostications  are  chiefly  remarkable  for  their 
inaccuracv.  But  mv  flowers  are  to  be  watered  from  the  clouds 
to-night.  We  had  better  go  in,  Mr.  Devereux — especially  as  I  see 
Ann  coming  to  say  that  tea  is  ready." 

As  they  were  going  to  the  house  Devereux  thought,  "  If  she 


A  LOST  IDEAL.  4S5 

was  not  so  kind,  I  might  make  one  more  effort — I  might  ask  her 
if  there  is  any  hope  for  me  in  the  future — but  what  is  the  good 
of  it  ?  I  should  only  bring  constraint  into  our  friendship.  She 
certainly  does  not  care  for  me." 

After  tea  an  incident  occurred  which  strengthened  this  opin- 
ion. The  prophesied  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents,  but  the  draw- 
ing-room, with  its  shaded  lamps,  was  almost  as  full  of  fragrance 
as  the  garden  had  been,  from  the  cut  roses  which  filled  every 
vase  and  hanging-basket.  Madeleine  was  at  the  piano — her 
touch  lingering  over  the  keys  in  the  dreamy  strains  of  Schu- 
mann and  Chopin ;  Basil  was  reading  by  a  table  strewed  with 
books,  papers,  and  late  periodicals ;  Mrs.  Severn  and  Devereux 
were  playing  backgammon,  which,  it  may  be  added,  the  latter 
held  in  cordial  detestation.  Discovering,  however,  that  his  host- 
ess liked  the  game,  he  had  hypocritically  expressed  a  partiality 
for  it — in  consequence  of  which  the  board  was  brought  out  every 
evening.  Three  games  at  least  were  always  played,  and  Mrs. 
Severn  was  generally  victorious — whether  by  good  fortune,  skill- 
ful playing,  or  the  courtesy  of  her  adversary,  it  is  difficult  to  say. 
This  evening,  as  usual,  she  won  two  games  out  of  three,  and 
w^hile  Devereux,  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  penance  accomplished, 
closed  the  board,  Basil  called  his  attention  to  an  essay  in  one 
of  the  magazines.     "  It  is  worth  glancing  over,"  he  said. 

As  a  matter  of  pure  complaisance,  Devereux  accepted  the 
book.  He  desired  to  go  to  the  piano,  where  Madeleine's  mu- 
sic—  sweeter  than  the  songs  of  the  sirens — summoned  him; 
but,  being  obliging  to  a  fault,  he  sat  down  instead  to  read  the 
essay,  in  which,  at  that  moment,  he  felt  not  the  least  interest. 
He  glanced  hastily  over  it,  feeling  the  effort  of  doing  so  to  be 
quite  a  task,  and  receiving  its  propositions  into  a  very  distract- 
ed mind,  but  when  he  came  to  the  end,  his  eye  fell  on  a  poem 
which  occupied  the  opi^osite  page,  and  which  instantly  attracted 
his  attention.  It  was  entitled  "  A  Lost  Ideal,"  and  signed  "  Gor- 
don Lacy."  The  title  and  signature  startled  Devereux,  and 
almost  involuntarily  he  began  to  read  the  verses — which  were 
these : 


486  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 


A    LOST    IDEAL. 

She  stood  beside  rae  long  ago, 

Her  mystic  fingers  touched  my  brow, 
Whereon,  in  dreams,  I  feel  them  now  : 

Her  voice  was  tender,  soft,  and  low. 

"  Look  up,  0  soul !  "  she  said — and  smiled, 
"  See  in  thy  sky  Hope's  morning-star. 

By  no  false  splendor  be  beguiled. 
But  follow  me  afar." 

I  knelt  and  kissed  her  gracious  feet, 

I  bade  her  lead  the  onward  way, 

For  could  I  falter,  fail,  or  stray, 
Blessed  by  a  guide  so  fair  and  sweet  ? 
Her  eves  shone  on  me  with  the  light 

Of  powers  divine  and  fancies  high, 
Of  hopes  and  glories  pure  and  bright 

As  God's  eternal  sky. 

She  led  me  from  the  haunts  of  men, 

She  whispered  thoughts  beyond  the  reach 
Of  human  minds  or  human  speech, 

She  bent  and  gently  touched  my  pen  : 

"  0  soul,"  she  said,  "  be  brave  and  strong, 
Keep  faith  and  courage  on  the  way, 

For  faint  hearts  fail  as  life  grows  long 
Toward  the  setting  day: 

"  Let  no  earth-glamour  come  between 
Thy  face  and  mine  :  no  passion  rise 
To  veil  my  beauty  from  thine  eyes. 

And  from  thy  sight  my  glory  screen. 

While  thou  art  faithful  I  am  true, 
And  over  paths  of  loss  and  pain, 

Trod  by  a  brave  immortal  few, 
I  hold  divinest  gain." 

Long  while  ago  this  heavenly  voice 
Spoke  to  my  soul  the  mystic  word. 
Still  cherished  there,  though  now  unheard, 

Of  hopes  that  made  my  heart  rejoice ; 


A  LOST   IDEAL.  487 


The  morning  star  has  paled  away, 
Gone  from  the  sky  its  rosy  flush, 

And  long  ago  the  garish  day 
Eeplaced  Aurora's  blush. 

Long  too  ago  that  pure  Ideal 

Turned  her  sad  face  and  tender  eyes, 

From  where  my  chosen  pathway  lies. 
Amid  the  tumult  of  the  Real ; 
Her  white  robe  passed  beyond  my  sight. 

Her  presence  left  my  empty  days, 
With  one  last  glance  of  sorrowing  light, 

She  vanished  from  my  gaze. 

And  now  I  seek,  and  now  I  yearn 
For  that  lost  vision  of  the  dawn, 
From  my  false  side  forever  gone, 

That  radiant  guide,  whose  footsteps  turn 

"Where,  through  enchanted  meadows  fair. 
Immortal  asphodels  still  shine. 

And  pearly  morning  fills  the  air 
With  opal  touch  divine. 

O'er  world-worn  paths  my  footsteps  tread, 
The  world's  loud  echo  fills  my  ears. 
But,  through  its  din,  my  spirit  hears 

The  sound  of  that  sweet  voice  which  led 

My  soul  adown  the  golden  past. 
0  fair  Ideal,  betrayed  and  lost, 

Earth's  treasures  at  thy  feet  I  cast, 
Won  at  too  dear  a  cost ! 


From  the  last  line  the  young  man  looked  up,  and,  to  his  sur- 
prise, met  Madeleine's  gaze.  So  entirely  had  his  attention  been 
absorbed  by  the  poem,  that  he  had  not  heard  her  leave  the 
piano  and  cross  the  floor  to  the  table.  She  had  spoken  to  him 
once  without  obtaining  any  reply :  now  she  said,  "  What  is  it 
that  interests  you  so  much  ?  " 

His  first  impulse  was  to  close  the  magazine,  and  answer, 
"  Nothing  of  any  importance  :  "  his  second  (which  he  followed)' 


488  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

to  say  carelessly,  "  Your  brother  directed  my  attention  to  an 
essay  whicli  I  have  found  rather  interesting." 

"  Ver^  interesting,  I  should  think,  to  judge  by  the  manner 
in  which  it  absorbed  you,"  said  she,  smihng.      "  May  I  see  it  ?  " 

"  It  really  is  not  worth  your  attention,"  he  answered — anx- 
ious, he  scarcely  knew  why,  to  keep  from  her  this,  which  even  to 
him  seemed  full  of  earnestness,  as  if  it  came  directly  from  Lacy's 
heart. 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Why  is  it  not  worth  my 
attention,  if  it  was  worth  yours  ? "  she  asked.  Then  she 
extended  her  hand  and  took  the  magazine.  "  I  am  a  daughter 
of  Eve,"  she  said.     "  I  must  know  what  it  is." 

"  If  you  must  know,"  said  Devereux,  in  a  low  voice — think- 
ing it  best  to  be  candid  at  once — "  it  is  a  poem  which  I  thought 
might  pain  j^ou — by  Mr.  Lacy." 

"  Why  should  it  pain  me  ? "  she  asked — blushing,  not  so 
much  from  the  sound  of  that  name  as  from  the  tone  in  which  it 
was  pronounced.  "You  surely  forget,"  she  added,  a  little 
haughtily,  "  how  entirely  it  has  passed  out  of  Mr.  Lacy's  power 
to  pain  me." 

"  I  don't  forget  any  thing,"  said  Devereux.  "  God  forbid  that 
I  should !  But  you  must  read  the  poem  now^ — then  you  wall 
understand  what  I  meant,  and  why  I  thought  to  spare  you  pain 
by  keeping  it  from  you." 

She  opened  the  magazine  wonderingly,  yet  a  little  reluct- 
antly— doubting  what  might  be  before  her.  She  was  prepared 
to  be  shocked,  for  Lacy's  poems  of  late  had  drifted  nearer  and 
nearer  to  a  standard  which  is  "  advanced  "  without  being  high, 
and  from  this  very  reason  she  was  not  prepared  for  the  verses 
on  which  her  glance  fell.  The  poem  was  less  artistically 
polished  than  much  of  his  work,  but  it  possessed  a  spirit  of 
pathos  and  sincerity  which  many  more  elaborate  efforts  had 
lacked. 

As  she  read  this  message  which  seemed  addressed  to  her 
comprehension  alone,  all  the  past  rushed  back  over  Madeleine, 
and  tears  gathered  so  thickly  in  her  eyes  that  she  could  scarcely 


AMONG  THE   ROSES.  489 

readl  Suddenly  they  startled  Devereux,  as  well  as  herself,  by 
dropping  on  the  page,  and  then  saying,  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice,  "Poor  Gordon! "  she  put  down  the  magazine  and  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER     IV. 

AMONG   THE    KOSES. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  Devereux's  reflections,  when  he 
went  to  his  chamber  that  night,  were  not  agreeable.  He  sat 
down  by  an  open  window  to  smoke,  and  while  the  damp  air 
came  in,  laden  with  fragrance  which  the  rain  had  exhaled,  he 
asked  himself  wdiat  new  knowledge  this  was  which  had  brought 
to  him  such  a  great  revelation  of  pain.  Was  it  the  knowledge 
that  Madeleine  did  not  love  him  ?  But  he  had  fancied  that  he 
knew  that  before.  Was  it  the  realization  of  how  much  he  loved 
her  ? — of  how  entirely,  for  good  or  ill,  his  heart  was  in  her  keep- 
ing ?  That,  too,  he  had  known — though  not,  perhaps,  with  the 
sharp  distinctness  borne  to  him.  Was  it  jealousy? — was  it 
longing  ? — was  it  hopelessness  or  passion  ?  He  could  not  tell, 
and  he  was  in  no  mood  to  analyze  his  own  sensations.  That  his 
soul  was  sick  with  pain,  he  knew :  that  he  was  possessed  by  a 
sense  of  anguish  which  is  old  as  humanity — the  strong  yearning 
for  a  good  which  cannot  be  reached,  the  burning  sense  of  wasted 
effort  and  impotent  powers !  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  one 
thing — his  whole  nature  w^as  roused  at  last.  He  had  scoffed  at 
earnestness  and  played  with  passion,  and  now  they  turned  like 
tigers  to  rend  him.  "  My  God  !  if  it  were  only  a  fancy  ! "  he 
said  aloud,  remembering  Madeleine's  words  when  they  had 
parted  two  years  before.  "  If  it  were  only  possible  to  put  it  out 
of  my  life  as  I  have  put  many  another  sentiment ! "  But,  while 
he  spoke,  he  felt  that  such  a  thing  was  impossible.  He  might 
fail,  as  men  unnumbered  have  failed,  to  win  the  desire  of  his 
heart  and  the  light  of  his  eyes,  but  he  could  not  thrust  aside  the 


490  A   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

love  wliioh  had  grown  within  him  until  it  seemed  to  say  with 
unchano^ino:  resolution,  "I  have  come,  and  I  shall  abide — to 
bless  or  curse ! " 

Considering  these  things,  reflecting  on  the  incident  of  that 
night,  his  heart  rose  up  in  indignant  protest.  She  had  called 
liim  light  and  fickle,  she  had  sent  him  away  refusing  even  to 
believe  in  the  depth  and  strength  of  his  love,  and  now  before  his 
eyes  she  could  show  how  her  heart  still  clung  to  the  memory  of 
a  man  who  had  not  only  failed  in  faith  to  her,  but  who  had 
renounced  every  high  ideal  in  life  and  art.  That  sting,  as  was 
natural  enough,  pierced  deeper  than  any  other.  He  felt  in  every 
fibre  of  his  nature  the  intensity  and  constancy  of  his  own  love, 
and  for  this  love  to  be  made  a  thing  of  naught  would  have  been 
hard  to  bear  under  any  circumstances,  but  for  it  to  be  disre- 
garded and  rejected  while  an  unworthy  shadow  of  the  past  was 
exalted  above  it — ^this  was  something  which  he  felt  scarcely 
able  to  endure.  A  fierce  sense  of  rebellion  overpowered  him. 
Why  should  that  which  he  would  have  toiled  and  suffered — ay, 
even  died — to  win,  be  denied  to  his  passionate  longing,  and 
given  to  one  who  had  no  need  or  care  for  it,  who,  if  he  recog- 
nized his  great  mistake  too  late,  could  sit  down  and  sing  of  it  to 
the  world  in  words  that  hardly  veiled  their  meaning  "^ 

Such  questions  have  been  asked  since  the  beginning  of  time, 
and  throuo'h  all  the  ao:es  no  answer  has  come  that  the  human 
heart  is  willing  to  hear.  No  answer  came  to  Devereux  now. 
There  was  nothing  to  calm  the  tumult  of  his  soul.  The  clouds 
broke  away,  the  stars  looked  at  him  through  the  jasmine-hung 
window,  but  the  serene  majesty  of  Nature  had  no  power  to  still 
the  passionate  fever  of  his  heart.  When  he  rose  at  last  and 
flung  the  bm-ning  end  of  his  last  cigar  among  the  wet  flowers 
below,  the  words  which  came  to  his  lips  were  those .  which 
Schiller  gave  to  princely  Wallenstein  : 

"  This  anguish  will  be  wearied  down,  I  know : 
•     What  pang  is  permanent  with  man  ?     From  the  highest, 
As  from  the  vilest  thing  of  every  day, 
He  learns  to  wean  himself:  for  the  strong  hours 
Conquer  him." 


AMONG  THE   ROSES.  491 

That  a  change  had  come  over  Devereux  was  perceptible  the 
next  day  to  every  one.  It  was  a  subtile  change,  but  it  did  not 
pass  with  the  day,  nor  with  many  days.  He  was  colder  and 
quieter  in  his  manner,  he  withdrew  more  to  himself,  his  interest 
seemed  to  flag;-  in  the  work  which  Basil  and  himself  had  under- 
taken — the  rebuilding  of  the  mills — and  now  and  then  he  spoke 
of  an  early  return  to  Colorado.  All  this  looked  ominous,  and 
Basil — who  had  become  sincerely  attached  to  him — spoke 
gravely  to  Madeleine. 

"  Something  has  come  over  Devereux,"  he  said.  "  I  don't 
understand  what  it  is,  but  he  seems  unaccountably  altered. 
Have  you  done  any  thing  to  him?" 

"  I !  What  should  I  have  done  to  him  ?  "  She  laughed,  but, 
as  she  laughed,  she  colored,  and  Basil,  noting  the  fact,  looked 
at  her  suspiciously. 

"  I  am  half  inclined  to  think  you  have,"  he  said.  "  Deve- 
reux has  changed  too  suddenly  for  something  not  to  be  the 
matter.  Now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  he  has  not  seemed  like 
himself  since  that  evening  I  left  you  in  the  garden  together. 
Madeleine,  he  really  is  a  very  good  fellow,  and  if  you  have  done 
or  said  any  thing  to  wound  him — " 

"  Basil,  your  conjectures  are  running  aWay  with  you,"  said 
Madeleine.  "  I  have  not,  to  my  knowledge,  either  said  or  done 
the  least  thing  to  wound  Mr.  Devereux.  Nothing  passed  be- 
tween us  on  the  evening  to  which  you  allude  save  a  little  idle 
talk,  and  then  we  came  into  the  house." 

"  He  has  not  been  like  himself  since  that  evening,"  repeated 
Basil,  obstinately,  "  and  he  says  he  is  going  back  to  Colorado 
next  week." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it ;  but  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  to  pre- 
vent his  going." 

"  You  might  speak  to  him — you  have  a  great  deal  of  influence 
over  him — and  tell  him  that  he  ought  to  stay  and  take  charge 
of  his  property." 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Madeleine,  shrinking,  she  scarcely  knew 
why.  "  You  should  not  ask  it  of  me,  Basil.  I  have  not  men- 
tioned the  property  to  him  since  he  came — I  cannot  do  so." 


492  ^  QUESTION   OF  HONOR. 

"  Well,  say  what  you  please  to  him,  so  that  you  induce  him 
to  stay — for  a  month  or  two  longer,  at  all  events.  It  is  really 
impossible  for  me  to  assume  the  entire  responsibility  of  these 
buildings." 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  him  so?  " 

"  I  have  told  him  so — and  he  replies  by  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  saying  that  I  must.  Now,  he  won't  answer  you 
in  that  manner." 

"He  may  not  answer  me  in  that  manner,  but  the  substance 
of  his  reply  will  probably  be  the  same." 

"  Try,"  said  Basil,  laconically. 

Thus  urged  to  effort,  and  her  mind  "  put  upon  thinking,"  as 
Robinson  Crusoe  says,  Madeleine  began  to  consider  what  the 
meaning  of  the  change  in  Devereux — evident  to  her  as  to  Ba- 
sil— could  be.  A  little  while  before  he  had  said  that  he  would 
probably  not  go  back  to  Denver  before  the  end  of  the  summer, 
and  now  he  talked  of  returning  next  week  !  This  sudden  reso- 
lution was  plainly  the  result  of  some  recent  cause  ;  but  she  was 
unable  to  imagine  what  that  cause  was,  until  the  hint  which 
Basil  had  given  with  regard  to  the  evening  in  the  garden  sud- 
denly enlightened  her.  Like  a  flash  she  remembered  Lacy's 
poem,  and  how  it  had  affected  her — how  she  had  read  it  before 
Devereux,  how  her  tears  had  fallen  on  the  page,  and  how  she 
had  left  the  room.  From  that  hour  the  change  in  him  had 
dated. 

This  revelation  came  to  her  with  almost  startling  force.  She 
was  alone  in  her  own  room  ;  but,  glancing  in  a  mirror  opposite 
her  seat,  she  saw  that  a  flood  of  crimson  dyed  her  face.  "  How 
could  he ! — how  could  he  !  "  she  cried,  and  then,  stung  by  a 
sense  of  having  been  misunderstood  and  misjudged,  she  aston- 
ished herself  by  bursting  into  tears  more  passionate  than  those 
she  had  shed  over  Lacy's  "  Lost  Ideal." 

It  is  an  accepted  fact  that,  when  two  people  live  in  the  same 
house,  they  must  of  necessity  see  a  great  deal  of  each  other. 
It  is  certainly  true  that  they  have  ample  opportunities  for  doing 
so ;  but  it  is  also  true  that  if  they  are  inclined  to  avoid  each 


AMOXG  THE   ROSES.  493 

other,  thej  can  accomplish  that  as  well  under  the  same  roof  as 
in  any  other  position.  If  either  or  both  are  good  tacticians,  it 
makes  the  matter  more  interesting  and  agreeable.  To  avoid 
each  other,  and  jet  not  to  betray  the  secret  of  tliis  avoidance  to 
casual  lookers-on,  requires  very  good  tactics  indeed,  and  a  grace 
of  social  diplomacy  not  often  found. 

This  diplomacy  both  Madeleine  and  Devereux  possessed,  and 
for  several  days  they  exercised  it  in  a  truly  admirable  manner. 
The  latter  thought  that  he  had  scorched  himself  badly  enough, 
and  that  his  best  wisdom  lay  now  in  avoiding  the  fair  but  cruel 
flame  which  allured  him.  The  former  felt  some  slight  resent- 
ment of  his  injustice,  but  much  more  of  that  instinct  of  reserve 
which  often  makes  a  woman  seem  cold  when  she  only  feels  that 
it  is  her  right  to  be  wooed  before  she  is  won.  Under  tliese  cir- 
cumstances, there  was  a  great  deal  of  courtesy  in  the  manners  of 
the  two,  but  very  little  of  that  frank  ease  into  which,  for  a  little 
while,  they  seemed  to  be  drifting.  AYhen  matters  reach  such  a 
point,  they  rapidly  tend  to  a  culmination  of  one  kind  or  another 
— and  a  culmination  came  here  shortly  and  sharply. 

It  occurred  at  breakfast  one  morning.    Several  letters  lay  by 
Devereux's  plate  when  he  came  down,  and  on  the  first  he  recog 
nized  at  a  glance  Mr.  Hurst's  writing.    HaWng  read  it,  he  looked 
at  Basil  with  a  smile. 

"  My  furlough  is  at  an  end,"  he  said ;  "  the  bugle  sounds 
'  Boot  and  saddle  '  again.  Hurst  writes  that  I  must  come  back 
at  once.  He  is  called  away  to  one  of  the  Atlantic  cities  on  im- 
portant business,  and  I  am  needed  in  Denver." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  have  not  something  to  do  with  the  im- 
portant business  ?  "  said  Basil,  suspiciously. 

"  On  my  honor,  no.  Here  is  his  letter  if  you  like  to  read  it.'* 
He  tossed  it  across  the  table.  "  You  can  see  for  yourself  what 
he  says." 

Basil  read  the  letter,  and  returned  it  gravely.  "  I  suppose 
you  can't  avoid  going,"  he  said. 

"  Even  if  I  had  any  desire  to  avoid  it,  which  I  have  not,  it 
would  be  quite  impossible  to  think  of  such  a  thing,"  replied 


i94  A   QUEbTION   OF   HONOR. 

Devereux.  "  1  owe  more  than  I  can  say  to  Hurst — he  has  been 
the  kindest  and  most  generous  of  friends  to  me — and  I  should 
be  intolerably  ungrateful  if  I  inconvenienced  him  now  by  neg- 
lectino;  to  answer  his  summons." 

"  When  do  you  mean  to  start  ?  " 

"  To-nio-ht." 

"  When  there  is  any  thing  like  a  journey  in  prospect,  what  a 
hurry  gentlemen  always  are  in  to  be  off ! "  said  Mrs.  Severn. 
"  I  think  they  are  as  impatient  as  children.  Now,  why  cannot 
you  take  things  quietly,  Mr.  Devereux,  and  wait  for  a  day  or 
two  ?  " 

"  For  one  reason,  because,  while  I  was  taking  things  quietly, 
Hurst  would  be  taking  them  very  much  the  reverse,"  said  Deve- 
reux, smiling,  "  and  because  there  is  no  good  in  making  a  pain- 
ful thing  a  long  thing." 

"  You  don't  want  to  go,  then  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  possibly  want  to  go  when  you  have  ail  been  so 
kind  to  me  ?  " 

"  We  think  the  kindness  is  on  your  side,  who  came  so  far  to 
relieve  Basil,"  said  Madeleine.  "  Of  course,  if  your  friend  needs 
you  in  Denver,  we  cannot  be  so  selfish  as  to  ask  you  to  stay ; 
but  we  hope  that  you  will  come  back." 

"  I  do  not  promise  myself  such  a  pleasure,"  he  answered, 
without  looking  at  her.  "  I  scarcely  think  I  shall  come  back — 
unless  Basil  breaks  his  arm  again." 

Silence  followed  this  announcement.  Nobody  cared  to  take 
up  the  gauntlet  thus  thrown  down,  and  introduce  on  the  scene 
that  oft-discussed  and  much-vexed  subject  of  the  Carlisle  prop- 
erty,  Mrs.  Severn  elevated  her  eyebrows  in  mild  surprise,  and 
glanced  at  Madeleine.  Basil  also  looked  at  her,  as  if  to  say, 
"  You  see  how  right  I  was  !  "  while  Madeleine,  on  her  part, 
felt  in  the  position  of  one  who  is  held  accountable  for  vagaries 
beyond  all  power  of  regulating.  On  the  spur  of  the  moment 
she  formed  a  resolution  which  after  breakfast  she  proceeded  to 
execute. 

The  horses  were  before  the  door  for  Basil  and  Devereux  to 


AMONG  THE  ROSES.  495 

ride,  as  usual,  to  the  mills.  They  never  troubled  themselves 
about  haste  in  starting,  however,  and  this  morning  was  no 
exception  to  the  rule.  Basil  found  it  necessary  to  go  to  his 
room  in  search  of  some  missing  plan  which  the  builders  needed, 
while  Devereux,  seeing  Madeleine  starting  to  the  garden  with 
her  basket  and  shears,  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  accom- 
pany her.  He  had  not  done  any  thing  of  this  kind  of  late ;  but, 
after  all  (he  thought),  why  should  he  not  singe  his  wings  a  little 
more  ?  Opportunity  for  doing  so  would  soon  be  over,  and  cer- 
tainly he  had  no  need  to  guard  from  harm  a  heart  which  had 
already  passed  so  far  beyond  his  control.  He  walked  up  to  her, 
therefore,  as  she  was  tying  on  her  hat. 

"  May  I  come  with  you  ?  "  he  asked,  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
is  not  altogether  sure  what  reception  he  may  expect.  ''  I  am 
fond  of  roses,  you  know,  and  perhaps  you  will  give  me  a  bud  to 
put  away  with  3'our  violets  as  a  souvenir." 

"  Is  it  possible  you  have  those  violets  jet  ?  "  asked  Made- 
leine, looking  up  with  a  smile — a  smile  so  bright  and  sweet  that 
Devereux's  heart  startled  him  by  a  great  throb.  The  delicate 
face  under  its  garden-hat  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  the 
fairest  on  which  the  sun  of  May  ever  shone.  The  glamour 
which  Love  brino-s  in  his  train  touched  its  beaut v  with  a  divine 
charm,  like  that  which  the  face  of  the  first  woman — ^j'et  un- 
stained by  sin — may  have  worn  to  the  gaze  of  the  first  man. 

"  Of  course  I  have  them  yet,"  he  said,  answering  her  ques- 
tion. "  Did  you  think  I  was  likely  to  have  given  or  thrown  them 
away  ?  " 

"  They  were  not  worth  giving  away — who  would  care  for  a 
knot  of  faded  violets  ? — and  scarcely  worth  throwing  away, 
since  that  requires  an  efi'ort ;  but  you  might  have  lost  them." 

"I  have  taken  excellent  care  not  to  do  so,"  he  replied. 
*'  Frail  and  faded  as  they  are,  they  have  been  my  only  memorial 
of — of  much  which  I  had  better  forget,  perhaps.  If  I  were  a 
poet — like  Mr.  Lacy — I  would  tell  you  the  storj'  of  all  they  have 
been  to  me.  But  then,  very  probably,  after  my  story  was  to?d, 
you  would  not  care  to  hear  it." 


496  A  QUESTION   OF   HONOR. 

"  Why  should  3^011  suppose  so  ?  "  she  asked.  Then,  feeling 
that  the  opportunity  was  come  for  what  she  had  determined  at 
breakfast  to  say,  she  went  on  in  a  low  voice :  "  I  am  glad  you 
have  spoken  of  Mr.  Lacy  and  his  poems — it  reminds  me  of  some- 
thing which  for  several  days  I  have  wanted  to  say  to  j'ou.  I 
have  been  afraid  that  vou  mio;-ht  have  misunderstood  what  I  felt 
on  that  night  when  you  showed  me — or,  rather,  when  I  read, 
despite  you — his  '  Lost  Ideal.'  " 

Devereux  was  slightly  startled,  for  he  had  not  in  the  least 
expected  any  thing  like  this ;  but  his  self-possession  rarely  for- 
sook him,  and  he  did  not  lose  it  now.  They  had  been  crossing 
the  lawn  as  they  spoke,  and,  as  he  answered,  they  entered  the 
garden  under  an  arch  over  which  a  rose-vine  ran. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  misunderstood  any  thing,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  I  knew  how  the  poem  would  affect  you,  and  therefore  I  did 
not  wish  you  to  see  it.  There  is  an  odd  kind  of  sympathy  be- 
tween us — there  has  been  from  the  first.  I  felt  that  it  would 
pain  you  ;  but  you  must  not  fancy  that,  for  a  moment,  I  did  you 
any  injustice." 

"Are  you  sure  that  j^oudidnot?"  she  asked.  "Are  you 
sure  that  you  know  why  it  pained  me?" 

She  turned  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  at  him  with  her  candid 
eyes,  which,  whether  he  would  or  not,  seemed  to  compel  a  truth- 
ful answer. 

"  I  imagined  that  I  knew  exactly  why  it  pained  you,"  he 
replied.  "  You  felt  the  tenderest  pity,  and  you  have  still — may 
I  say  this,  sure  that  you  will  not  misunderstand  ? — the  memory 
of  love." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  been  frank  enough  to  say  this  to 
me,"  she  answered,  a  deeper  color  flickering  into  her  cheeks,  but 
her  eyes  remaining  steady  in  their  grave  regard.  "  In  justice  to 
myself  I  must  tell  you  that  you  are  mistaken.  Poor  Gordon  I 
what  I  felt  for  him  was  indeed  pity,  the  purest  pity — and  you 
know  how  near  akin  pity  is  to  pain.  I  saw  the  beginning  of 
his  unfaithfulness  to  all  high  ideals  so  long  ago,  and  I  have 
watched  with  so  much  sorrow  his  downward  path  !     The  love  I 


AMONG  THE   ROSES.  497 

once  gave  him  has  passed  almost  from  my  memory — entirely 
from  my  heart — but  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  sorry  when  we  see 
a  spirit  sinking  into  the  mire  of  earth,  weighed  down  with  earthly 
things,  whose  wings  we  once  hoped  might  bear  it  to  the  stars." 

She  spoke,  Devereux  thought,  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child 
and  the  gentleness  of  a  saint.  His  heart  leaped  up  with  such  a 
sense  of  relief,  of  absolute  trust  and  confidence,  that  he  could 
have  knelt  and  kissed  her  dress  as  it  swept  the  dewy  grass  be- 
neath their  feet.  He  felt  a  pang  of  shame  that  he  had  ever 
doubted  her,  that  he  had  not  read  her  meaning  better. 

He  expressed  something  like  this,  adding :  "  I  can  only  ex- 
cuse myself  when  I  remember  that  the  heart  sends  up  mists 
which  cloud  and  confuse  the  brain.  Will  you  forgive  me  for 
saying  that  I  have  no  capability  of  cool  judgment  where  you  are 
concerned  ?  If  I  had,  I  should  not  have  blundered  so  unpardon- 
ably." 

'*  You  have  so  often  judged  me  more  kindly  than  I  deserved," 
she  said,  "that  I  can  afford  to  pardon  you  for  judging  me  once 
w^th  slight  injustice.  Now  that  you  understand,  however,"  she 
went  on,  with  a  smile  rising  to  her  lips  and  into  her  brown  eyes, 
"  will  you  have  the  rose  that  is  to  be  a  companion  souvenir  to 
your  violets  ?  " 

"1  will  have  any  thing  that  you  choose  to  give  me,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  but  since  you  make  me  bold  to  ask,  I  would  rather 
have  a  rose  that  you  have  worn.  Will  you  give  me  one  out  of 
your  hair — to-night  ?  I  have  often  wished  that  I  might  fall  heir 
to  one  that  had  rested  for  a  whole  evening  among  your  soft 
tresses."  ' 

She  looked  at  him  with  something  like  wonder  in  her  gaze. 
^^^lat  woman,  who  is  not  vain  and  shallow,  but  feels  humbled 
and  touched  by  the  supreme  height  to  which  a  brave  man's  love 
exalts  her,  with  all  the  imperfections  (which  he  does  not  see) 
thick  upon  her  ?  It  may  be  safely  asserted  that  in  exact  pro- 
portion to  the  fineness  of  a  nature,  it  feels  this.  There  are 
women  who  never  feel  it — to  whom  such  homage  is  only  a  vul- 
gar triumph. 


498  ^   QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

"  Certainly,  you  shall  Lave  the  rose  to-night,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
will  you  not  have  one  now  also?     Here  is  a  lovely  Malmaison." 

Devereux  received  the  fragrant,  half-opened  bud  which  she 
offered,  and  kept  in  his  own  the  hand  which  gave  it.  He  was 
not  thinking  of  the  Malmaison  ;  he  was  thrilled  by  a  sudden 
divine  hope  which  came  to  him  so  much  like  an  inspiration  that 
he  felt  unable  to  disregard  it. 

"  I  told  you  a  little  while  ago  that  I  should  not  come  back," 
he  said.  "  I  thought  then  that  there  would  never  be  any  good 
in  doing  so — that  my  only  hope  for  peace  was  in  remaining 
away  ;  but  now  you  are  so  kind — you  must  blame  yourself  if  I 
am  presumptuous — that  I  feel  impelled  to  ask  j^^ou  if  I  may  come 
back?" 

She  did  not  reclaim  her  hand ;  she  only  lifted  her  eyes  to  his 
face  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  lids  fell  again,  as  she  replied, 
"  Surely  there  is  no  need  to  ask  such  a  question.  Do  you  not 
know  that  we  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you  come  back  ?  " 

"  We  !  "  he  repeated.  "  I  only  spoke  of  you.  No  one  else 
matters.     Will  you  be  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Very  glad,"  she  answered,  simplj^ 

"And  when  I  come,"  he  went  on,  growing  bolder  and  laying 
his  other  hand  over  the  one  which  he  held,  "  may  I  tell  you  the 
story  of  all  that  has  so  long  been  in  my  heart  regarding  you — 
the  story  which  I  promised  when  I  went  away  that  I  would  come 
back  in  three  years  to  tell  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  low  laugh.  "You  are  mis- 
taken— my  memory  is  better  than  yours.  You  only  said  that 
you  were  coming  back  to  tell  me  whether  or  not  your  fancy  had 
endured." 

"  But  there  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  that,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  now — what  I  knew  then — that  it  is  no  fancv,  but 
the  passion  which  colors  a  man's  whole  life.  I  feel  as  strongly 
as  possible  that  I  have  nothing  to  offer  which  is  worth  your 
regard — that,  taken  at  my  best  (which,  God  knows,  is  poor 
enough !),  I  am  not  and  never  shall  be  worthy  of  you  ;  but  still, 
if  you  can  give  me  any  hope — if  you  can  let  me  think  that  some 


AMOXG  THE  ROSES.  499 

day  3'^ou  may  learn  to  love  me — I  shall  strive  to  wait  as  patiently 
and  serve  as  faithfully  as  the  knights  of  whom  you  spoke  to  me 
once." 

"  Do  you  remember  every  thing  that  I  ever  said  to  you  ?  " 
asked  Madeleine,  with  a  slight  quiver  in  her  voice.  '*  I  wish — I 
wish  I  had  uttered  things  better  worth  remembering." 

"  I  never  heard  you  utter  any  thing  that  was  not  worth  re- 
membering," said  Devereux,  with  a  sincerity  that  could  not  be 
doubted.  "  What  power  your  Words  have  had  over  me  I  shall 
not  try  to  tell  you — I  would  rather  show  you." 

"  I  wish  you  would  forget  some  words  that  I  once  spoke  to 
you,"  she  said.  "  They  were  not  only  harsh,  but  deeply  unjust. 
I  have  felt  that  for  a  long  time.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  I 
said  that  you  were  frivolous  and  fickle — and — and  other  things 
of  the  same  kind.     AVill  you  forgive  me  ?     I  know  better  now." 

"  Forgive  you  !  "  He  kissed  passionately  the  hand  he  held. 
"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive.  I  was  all  that  you  said — and 
worse.  If  I  am  better  now,  it  is  you  who  have  made  me  so.  I 
claim  no  credit  for  my  constancy.  How  could  any  one  know  you 
and  not  love  you  ? — how  could  any  one  love  3'ou  and  forget 
you?" 

"  Oh,  you  think  too  highly,  far  too  highly  of  me  !  "  she  cried, 
touched,  melted,  overcome,  not  so  much  by  the  words  themselves 
as  by  the  great  earnestness  which  filled  them.  "  If  you  could 
see  me  in  my  true  colors,  you  would  not  care  so  much  for  me — 
you  would  not  think  me  a  prize  worth  winning." 

"  Then  God  forbid  that  I  should  ever  see  you  in  your  true 
colors !  "  he  said,  with  something  like  a  laugh.  "  The  world 
would  be  emptied  for  me  if  I  lost  my  belief  in  you  as  I  know 
and  love  you — my  queen,  my  star,  my  truest  inspiration  and  best 
hope  in  life  !  O  Madeleine  !  do  you  not  know  that,  after  all  this 
sweet  kindness,  I  cannot  leave  you  without  some  assurance  for 
the  future?  My  love,  my  lov^e,  will  you  try  to  give  me  the  an- 
swer I  desire  when  I  come  back  to  tell  my  story  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  passionate,  pleading  eyes,  in  which 
she  read  all  that  was  in  his  heart — the  heart  which  had  remained 


500  A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR. 

true  to  her  through  coklness,  scoru,  neglect  and  absence.  As 
she  thought  of  this,  a  swift  remembrance  came  to  her — ah, 
would  to  God  it  came  to  all  of  us  when  hands  are  clasiDed  to  say 
good-by  ! — that  on  this  sad  earth  of  pain  and  loss  we  are  certain 
of  nothing  save  what  we  hold  in  our  grasp.  The  present  mo- 
ment is  ours — the  next  may  be  forever  beyond  our  reach.  To 
Madeleine  this  thought  was  like  a  warning.  The  man  wdio  loved 
her  was  going  away,  and  could  she  be  sure  that  her  glance  would 
ever  rest  on  his  face  again  ?  The  doubt  cost  her  a  pang  which 
ended  all  hesitation.  With  an  impulse  full  of  the  bravest  and 
sweetest  grace,  she  held  out  her  other  hand. 

"  JSTeed  you  wait  to  tell  your  story  until  you  come  back  ?  " 
she  said. 

Who  is  not  able  to  imagine  what  Devereux  answered  ?  It 
was  the  light  of  Paradise  which  suddenly  filled  the  sunshine  for 
these  two,  as  they  stood  among  the  roses  of  May.  There  are  few 
lives  which  such  an  hour  has  not  brightened  w^ith  that  same  pri- 
mal radiance  which  in  the  oldest  love-story  of  earth  rested  on 
the  two — type  of  all  who  were  to  come  after — amid  the  bowers 
of  Eden. 

Basil  went  that  morning  to  the  mills  alone ;  but  for  him,  too, 
there  was  a  brightness  on  the  earth  which  had  not  been  there 
before — the  brightness  of  an  unselfish  joy  in  the  happiness  of 
others.  There  was  no  thought  of  envy  or  repining  in  his  sou], 
for  his  was  that  true  and  simple  courage  which,  accepting  life  as 
it  is  given,  bears  its  burden  cheerfully  over  the  roughest  road. 

Devereux  remained  firm  in  his  resolution  to  leave  for  Colo- 
rado that  night,  and  Madeleine  did  not  try  to  dissuade  him ;  but 
when  the  sun  Avas  sinking,  they  went  in  the  sweet  May  gloam- 
ing to  Mary  Carlisle's  grave,  and  there  one  promised  to  w-ait — 
the  other  to  return. 

When  it  is  said  that  he  did  return,  all  is  told.  It  is  good  to 
think  that  sometimes  on  earth  faithful  love  and  tender  hope  are 
crowned  with  that  golden  gift  of  happiness  which  our  hearts 
desire  ;  but  it  is  also  good — nay,  better — to  believe  that  if  they 
are  not   so  crowned,  there  are  some  gifts  better  lost  than  won. 


AMONG  THE   ROSES.  501 

some  souls  called  to  taste  the  divine  sweetness  which  lurks  in 
the  bitterness  of  sacrifice,  rather  than  that  rich  nectar  which 
men  call  joy,  and  who  are  taught  the  great  lesson  that,  out  of 
weary  longing  and  bafiQed  efforts,  and  failure  which  seems  almost 
too  sad  to  be  dwelt  upon,  a  victory  which  shall  endure  forever 
may  be  wrought. 


22 


THE    END. 


I 


CHRISTIAN  REID'S  NOVELS. 


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"For  the  sake  of  our  literature  we  trust  that  the  author  will  not  pause  in  her  new 
career,  which  certainly  opens  with  the  bravest  promise." — Christiati  Ufiioi. 

"  There  is  intense  power  in  many  of  the  scenes." — JVe-w  York  Evening  Mail. 

"  Marked  by  great  force  and  originality." — Philadelphia  Age. 

"  Interesting  from  beginning  to  end." — Eclectic  Alagazine. 

"  It  is  long,  very  long  since  we  have  read  an  American  novel  of  any  thing  like 
equal  merit." — Philadelphia  Press. 

MABEL    LEE.      With   Illustrations.     8vo.      Paper,    price,    $1.00; 
cloth,  $1.50. 

"A  story  of  absorbing  interest." — St.  Louis  Republican. 

"A  tale  of  vivid  interest;  full  of  natural,  striking  characterization." — Banner  of 
the  South. 

"  The  story  is  one  of  thrilling  interest." — Nczu  York  Express. 

"A  capital  picture  of  Southern  character  and  society." — Boston  Gazette. 

"No  American  author  of  to-day  charms  us  so  much." — Portland  Argus. 

EBB-TIDE.     With  Illustrations.     8vo.     Paper,  price,  $1.00;  cloth, 
$1.50. 

"  'Ebb-Tide'  is  a  story  of  power  and  pathos,  and  will  be  much  admired." — Boston 
Comtnonivealth. 

"Scenes  and  incidents  portrayed  with  vividness  and  skill." — Boston  Traveller. 

"The  plot  is  interesting  and  well  developed,  and  the  style  is  both  spirited  and 
clear." — Boston  Gazette. 

NINA'S  ATONEMENT,  and  Other  Stories.     With   Illustrations. 
8vo.     Paper,  price,  $1.00;  cloth,  $1.50. 

"  To  readers  in  want  of  a  book  with  which  to  while  away  an  after-dinner  hour,  cf 
cheat  railway  traveling  of  its  tedium,  we  commend  this  collection  of  stories  and  no.- 
ellettes." — N.  Y.  Arcadian. 

A    DAUGHTER    OF   BOHEMIA.     I    vol.      Illustrated.      Paper, 
price,  $1.00;  cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Those  who  have  followed  the  course  of  this  remarkable  story  through  AprLETONs' 
Journal  will  need  no  fresh  incentive  to  induce  them  to  read  it  in  book-form;  and  to 
those  who  have  not  thus  followed  it  there  remains  an  opportunity  for  real  mental  en- 
joyment which  we  almost  envy  them.  It  is  emphatically  thus  far  one  of  the  best  novels 
of  the  season." — The  Golden  Age. 

"  It  is  a  novel  of  brilliancy  and  attractiveness  in  its  conversation  and  style  gener- 
ally, on  a  par  with  the  writer's  previous  books." — N.  Y.  Evening  Mail. 

B.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

549  &  551  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


Meifloirs  of  General  William  T.  SlemaD, 

WRITTEN    BY    HIMSELF. 

Complete  in  two  volumes.     SmallZvo,  ^oo  pages  each.     Price  in  blue  cloth,  $5.50; 
sheep,  $7.00;  half  turkey,  $8.50;  full  turkey,  $12.00. 


From  the  Richmond  Whig. 

"He  writes  well.  His  stj'le  is  terse,  pointed,  and  incisive.  He  expresses  his  opin- 
ions of  men  and  things  with  independence  and  freedom." 

From  the  Boston  Post. 

"The  book  ^vritten  by  General  Sherman  is  as  striking  a  record  of  military  experi- 
ence as  the  modern  world  has  ever  read.  It  is  rare  that  a  great  commander  is  a  good 
writer,  the  same  hand  not  often  being  gifted  with  the  capacity  to  hold  the  sword  and 
the  pen  with  equal  skill." 

From^  the  Springfield  Union. 

"General  Sherman's  style  becomes  picturesque  and  vivid  in  treating  of  the  march 
to  the  sea,  which,  indeed,  has  been  seized  upon  by  all  our  writers  as  the  most  romantic 
passage  of  the  war. " 

From  the  Philadelphia  Daily  Telegraph. 

"With  a  few  exceptions,  the  book  is  remarkably  temperate,  and  it  is  an  eminently 
readable  and  most  interesting  narrative  of  a  brilliant  military  career." 

From  the  Saturday  Evefiing  Gazette, 

"We  recognize  him  as  one  of  the  brilliant  soldiers  of  his  eia,  and  as  a  man  to  whom 
his  country  is  very  largely  indebted  for  what  he  now  informs  us  was  the  conception,  as 
well  as  the  carrying  out,  of  one  of  the  master-strokes  of  the  war." 

From  the  N.  V.  Herald. 

"  Sherman  shows  that  he  can  wield  the  pen  as  well  as  the  sword.  His  style  is  as 
much  his  own  as  that  of  Caesar  or  Napoleon.  It  is  a  winning  style.  We  see  a  gifted 
man  telling  his  life  in  a  plain,  artless  fashion,  but  with  trenchant  rhetoric." 

From,  the  Tribune. 

"Of  the  events  of  the  Civil  War,  in  which  he  has  won  his  illustrious  fame,  he  has 
given  a  singularly  lucid  and  instructive  description  ;  his  strictures  on  military  affairs 
are  judicious  and  weighty;  but  to  many  readers  his  portraitures  of  scenes  and  inci- 
dents of  less  wide-spread  publicity,  revealing  by  side-glances  the  traits  of  a  powerful 
and,  in  some  sense,  a  unique  personal  character,  will  prove  the  most  interesting  por- 
tions of  the  work." 

From  the  N.  Y.  Times. 

"These  memoirs  are  by  far  the  most  interesting  and  important  contribution  yet 
made  to  the  military  history  of  the  rebellion  by  any  of  the  leading  actors  in  the  great 
struggle.  The  personal  history  of  so  marked  a  man  must  always  possess  extraordinary 
interest.  When  it  is  related  by  the  man  himself,  and  in  that  peculiarly  racy  style 
which  General  Sherman's  letters  and  speeches  have  made  familiar  to  the  public,  it  not 
only  becomes  absorbing  but  fascinating." 

From  the  Evening  Post. 
"General  Sherman  has  told  his  story  with  the  most  entire  unreser\'e,  and  the  story 
is  one  which  Americans  will  be  proud  to  read.  We  cannot  help  a  feeling  of  satisfac- 
tion in  being  of  the  same  race  and  the  same  country  with  such  a  man.  We  have  here 
the  picture  of  a  person  resolute  yet  cautious,  bold  yet  prudent,  confident  yet  modest 
— a  man  of  action  to  his  finger-ends,  yet  withal  something  of  a  poet;  we  see  all  through 
the  book  the  evidences  of  a  chivalrous  mind  and  of  an  intellect  of  singular  force  and 
precision." 

D.  APPLE  TON  ^  CO.,  Publishers,  549  6-  551  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


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D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers,  549  &  551  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


THE   GREVILLE   MEMOIRS. 

COMPLETE  IN  TWO    VOLS. 


A  JOURNAL  OF  THE   REIGNS  OF 

King  G-eorge  lY.  &  King  William  lY. 

By  the  Late  CHAS.  C.  F.  GREVILLE,  Esq., 
Clerk  of  the  Council  to  those  Sovereigns. 

Edited  by  Henry  Reeve,  Registrar  of  the  Privy  Council. 

12mo.     PRICE,  $4.00. 

This  edition  contai)ts  the  complete  text  as  published  in  the  three  volumes 

of  the  English  edition. 


"  The  sensation  created  by  these  Memoirs,  on  their  first  appearance,  was  not  out  of 
proportion  to  their  real  interest.  They  relate  to  a  period  of  our  history  second  only,  in 
importance  to  the  Revolution  of  1688;  they  portray  manners  which  have  now  disap- 
peared from  society,  yet  have  disappeared  so  recently  that  middle-aged  men  can  recol- 
lect them;  and  they  concern  the  conduct  of  very  eminent  persons,  of  whom  some  are 
still  living,  while  of  others  the  memory  is  so  fresh  that  they  still  seem  almost  to  be  con- 
temporaneous."— Tke  Acadetny. 

"  Such  Memoirs  as  these  are  the  most  interesting  contributions  to  history  that  can 
be  made,  and  the  most  valuable  as  well.  The  man  deserves  gratitude  from  his  pos- 
teritj'  who,  being  placed  in  the  midst  of  events  that  have  any  importance,  and  of  people 
who  bear  any  considerable  part  in  them,  sits  down  day  by  day  and  makes  a  record  of 
his  observations." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"The  Greville  Memoirs,  already  in  a  third  edition  in  London,  in  little  more  than 
two  months,  have  been  republished  by  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York.  The  three 
loosely-printed  English  volumes  are  here  given  in  two,  without  the  slightest  abridg- 
ment, and  the  price,  which  is  nine  dollars  across  the  wafer,  here  is  only  four.  It 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  this  work,  though  not  so  ambitious  in  its  style  as  Horace 
Walpole's  well-known  'Correspondence,'  is  much  more  interesting.  In  a  word,  these 
Greville  Memoirs  supply  valuable  mateiials  not  alone  for  political,  but  also  for  social 
history  during  the  time  they  cover.  They  are  additionally  attractive  from  the  large 
quantity'  of  racy  anecdotes  which  they  contain." — PJiiladelphia  Press. 

"  These  are  a  few  among  many  illustrations  of  the  pleasant,  gossipy  information  con- 
veyed in  these  Memoirs,  whose  great  charm  is  the  free  and  straightforward  manner  in 
which  the  writer  chronicles  his  impressions  of  men  and  events." — Boston  Daily  Globe. 

"As  will  be  seen,  these  volumes  are  of  remarkable  interest,  and  fully  justify  the  en- 
comiums that  heralded  their  appearance  in  this  country.  They  will  attract  a  large  cir- 
cle of  readers  here,  who  will  find  in  their  gossipy  pages  an  almost  inexhaustible  fund  o^ 
instruction  and  amusement." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"Since  the  publication  of  Horace  Walpole's  Letters,  no  book  of  greater  historical 
interest  has  seen  the  light  than  the  Greville  Memoirs.  It  throws  a  curious,  and,  wc 
may  almost  say,  a  terrible  light  on  the  conduct  and  character  of  the  public  men  in  Eng- 
land under  the  reigns  of  George  IV.  and  William  IV.  Its  descriptions  of  those  king» 
and  their  kinsfolk  are  never  likely  to  be  forgotten." — N.  Y.  Times. 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers,  549  &  551  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


THE     LIFE     OF 

HIS  ROYAL   HIGHNESS 

THE  PRINCE  CONSORT. 

By    THEODORE    MARTIN. 
With  Portraits  and  Views.     Vohitne  the  First.     \27>io.     Cloth.     Price,  $2.00. 


"  The  book,  indeed,  is  more  comprehensive  than  its  title  implies.  Purporting  to 
tell  the  life  of  the  Prince  Consort,  it  includes  a  scarcely  less  minute  biography — which 
may  be  regarded  as  almost  an  autobiography — of  the  Queen  herself;  and,  when  it  is 
complete,  it  will  probably  present  a  more  minute  history  of  the  domestic  life  of  a  queen 
and  her  'master'  (the  term  is  Her  Majesty's)  than  has  ever  before  appeared." — Frotn 
the  A  thenceutn. 

"  Mr.  Martin  has  accomplished  his  task  with  a  success  which  could  scarcely  have 
been  anticipated.  His  biography  of  Prince  Albert  would  be  valuable  and  instructive 
even  if  it  were  addressed  to  remote  and  indifferent  readers  who  had  no  special  interest 
in  the  English  court  or  in  the  royal  family.  Prince  Albert's  actual  celebrity  is  insepa- 
rably associated  with  the  high  position  which  he  occupied,  but  his  claim  to  permanent 
reputation  depends  on  the  moral  and  intellectual  qualities  which  were  singularly 
adapted  to  the  circumstances  of  his  career.  In  any  rank  of  life  he  would  probably 
have  attained  distuiction ;  but  his  prudence,  his  self-denial,  and  his  aptitude  for  acquir- 
ing practical  knowledge,  could  scarcely  have  found  a  more  suitable  field  of  exercise 
than  in  his  peculiar  situation  as  the  acknowledged  head  of  a  constitutional  monarchy." 
Prom  the  Saturday  Reviezv. 

"  The  author  writes  with  dignity  and  grace,  lie  values  his  subject,  and  treats  him 
with  a  certain  courtly  reverence,  yet  never  once  sinks  into  the  panegyrist,  and  while 
apparently  most  frank — so  frank,  that  the  reticent  English  people  may  feel  the  intimacy 
of  his  domestic  narratives  almost  painful — he  is  never  once  betrayed  into  a  momentary 
indiscretion.  The  almost  idyllic  beauty  of  the  relation  between  the  Prince  Consort 
and  the  Queen  comes  out  as  fully  as  in  all  previous  histories  of  that  relation — and  we 
have  now  had  three — as  does  also  a  good  deal  of  evidence  as  to  the  Queen's  own 
character,  hitherto  alwaj's  kept  down,  and,  as  it  were,  self  effaced  in  publications 
written  or  sanctioned  by  herself." — From  the  Londofi  Spectator. 

"Of  the  abilities  which  have  been  claimed  for  the  Prince  Consort,  this  work  affords 
us  small  means  of  judging.  But  of  his  wisdom,  strong  sense  of  duty,  and  great  dignity 
and  purity  of  character,  the  volume  furnishes  ample  evidence.  In  this  way  it  will  be 
of  service  to  any  one  who  reads  it." — Froin  the  New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  There  is  a  striking  contrast  between  this  volume  and  the  Greville  Memoirs,  which 
relate  to  a  period  in  English  history  immediately  preceding  Prince  Albert's  marriage 
with  Queen  Victoria.  Radical  changes  were  effected  in  court-life  by  Victoria's  acces- 
sion to  the  throne.  ...  In  the  work  before  us,  which  is  the  unfolding  of  a  model  home- 
life,  a  life  in  fact  unrivaled  in  the  abodes  of  modem  royalty,  there  is  nothing  but  what 
the  purest  mind  can  read  with  real  pleasure  and  profit. 

_"  Mr.  Martin  draws  a  most  exquisite  portraiture  of  the  married  life  of  the  royal  pair, 
which  seems  to  have  been  as  nearly  perfect  as  any  thing  human  can  be.  The  volume 
closes  shortly  after  the  Revolution  of  1848,  at  Paris,  when  Louis  Philippe  and  his  hap- 
less queen  were  fleeing  to  England  in  search  of  an  asj'lum  from  the  fearful  forebodings 
\yhich  overhung  their  pathway.  It  was  a  trying  time  for  England,  but,  says  Mr.  Mar. 
tin  with  true  dramatic  effect  in  the  closing  passages  of  his  book :  '  When  the  storm 
burst,  it  found  him  prepared.  In  rising  to  meet  the  difficulties  of  the  hour,  the  prince 
found  the  best  support  in  the  cheerful  courage  of  the  queen,'  who  on  the  4th  of 
April  of  that  same  year  wrote  to  King  Leopold  :  *  I  never  was  calmer  and  quieter  01 
less  nervous.  Great  events  make  me  calm;  it  is  only  trifles  that  irritate  my  nerves.' 
Thus  ends  the  first  volume  of  one  of  the  mi  st  important  biographies  of  the  present 
time.  The  second  volume  will  follow  as  soon  as  its  preparation  can  be  effected."— 
/'rom  the  Hartford  Evening  Post. 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers,  549  &  551  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


THE 


POPULAR  SCIENCE  LIBRARY. 


Under  this  title  will  be  issued  a  series  cf  neat  and  attractive  books, 
at  the  uniform  price  of  a  dollar  each,  that  shall  bring  the  varied  and  im- 
portant results  of  modern  scientific  inquiry  within  easy  reach  of  all 
classes  of  readers.  Much  of  the  wonderful  intellectual  activity  of  the 
age  is  taking  a  scientific  direction,  and  nearly  every  department  of 
knowledge  is  powerfully  affected  by  it ;  but  the  results  are  usually  em- 
bodied in  books  so  large  that  many  people  have  neither  money  to  buy 
them  nor  time  to  read  them,  while  the  reproduction  of  the  ripest  scien- 
tific literature,  in  form  suitable  for  extensive  diffusion,  has  by  no  means 
kept  pace  with  the  general  advance  of  thought.  The  "POPULAR 
SCIENCE  LIBRARY"  will  contribute  to  this  desirable  object  by  pre- 
senting a  series  of  volumes — original,  translations,  reprints,  and  abridg- 
ments— with  copious  illustrations,  in  all  the  departments  of  science  that 
are  of  practical  and  popular  interest.  It  will  take  a  free  range  in  its 
choice  of  subjects,  and  treat  them  in  a  way  that  will  be  most  interesting 
and  profitable  to  general  readers. 

The  following  works  have  just  been  issued,  to  be  followed  by  others 
of  a  similar  character,  from  time  to  time. 

Price,         '         -         -         -         -         $1.00  cac/i. 


I.      HEALTH.      By  Dr.  Edward  Smith,  F.  R.  S. 

II.     THE     NATURAL     HISTORY    OF    MAN.     By 

Prof.  A.  DE  QuATREFAGES.      Illustrated.     Translated  from  the  French 
by  Eliza  A.  Youmans. 

III.      THE    SCIENCE    OF    MUSIC.      Illustrated.      By  Sedley 
Taylor. 

IV.  OUTLINE  OF  THE  EVOLUTION  PHI- 
LOSOPHY. By  Dr.  E.  Gazelles.  Translated  from  the 
French  by  Rev.  O.  B.  Frothingham. 

V.     ENGLISH    MEN    OF   SCIENCE:    their  Na- 
ture and  Nurture.     By  Framcis  Galton,  f.  r.  s. 

jD.  APPLETON  6^  CO.,  Publishers,  549  6^  551  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


FRENCH     HOME-LIFE. 

Reprinted  from  Blackwood'' s  Magazine. 

SECOXD    EDITION. 

One  Volume,  12ino.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

CONTEXTS : 

Servants — Children — Furniture — Food — Manners — Language — 

Dress — Marriage. 


"  This  is  a  work  of  singular  knowledge,  written  by  a  man  possessing  rare 
powers  of  observation  and  social  tact.  That  the  writer  has  resided  long  in  France, 
the  most  superficial  glance  into  the  book  will  make  clear ;  for,  whatever  the  pass- 
ing traveler  can  do,  he  cannot  attain  to  such  result  of  clear  picture,  vivid  con- 
trast, and  firm  hold  on  general  causes  as  we  have  here.  The  chief  value  of  the 
work — apart  from  its  graceful,  lively  style — is  that,  together  with  the  familiarity 
which  long  residence  gives,  we  have  all  the  freshness  of  an  outside  beholder. 
This  makes  it  simply  delightful  reading  both  to  those  who  know  and  those  who 
do  not  know  French  life."— -B/iiisA  Quarterly  Eeview. 

"  The  present  book  of  essays,  which  might  in  justice  be  called  a  guide-book 
to  the  French  mind,  will  tell  the  reader  all  that  he  ought  to  know  by  this  time, 
and  certainly  does  not  know,  about  French  ways.  Less  amusing  than  M.  Taine's 
work  on  England,  it  is  deeper  and  in  the  main  truer.  The  writer,  indeed,  does 
not  aim  at  being  amusing;  he  seeks  to  give  philosophical  analyses  of  the  customs 
which  constitute  home-life  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  and  he  quite  suc- 
ceeds."—PaZ^  Mall  Gazette. 

" '  French  Home-Life '  is  so  rich  in  suggestive  remarks  and  interesting  details, 
it  is  so  full  of  the  knowledge  derived  from  practical  experience,  that  the  reviewer 
is  tempted,  as  the  reader  probably  will  be,  to  linger  over  its  pages.  A  book  like 
this  is  fruitful  of  thought  and  comment,  and  the  kindly  spirit  that  pervades  it  is 
worthy  of  all  praise/''— Spectator. 

"This  is  a  book  which  will  help  to  dispel  the  remains  of  a  very  unfair  and 
antiquated  prejudice,  and  we  therefore  welcome  it  with  sincere  pleasure."— J/w'w- 
ingf  Advertiser. 

"He  dissipates  a  variety  of  delusions  which  are  too  general  in  England,  and  it 
is  to  be  hoped  that  his  book  will  persuade  us  to  take  more  charitable  views  of 
our  friends  across  the  Channel,  in  enlightening  us  as  to  their  real  natures  and 
actual  habits."— ri we.?. 

"A  clearer,  a  truer,  and  in  many  instances  a  better  idea  of  the  people  of  France 
as  a  people,  in  their  manners  and  habits  as  they  live,  than  has  hitherto  been  com- 
monly and  ignorantly  entertained  in  this  coxintvj .^''—Jilorning  Post. 

"Xous  en  avons  assez  dit  pour  faire  comprendre  tout  Tattrait  que  presente 
un  pareil  livre.  En  le  lisant  les  Anglais  apprennent  a  mieux  nouo  juger;  nous 
apprendrons,  nous,  a  mieux  nous  connaiiTe.''''— Journal  de  Paris. 

New  York:    D.   APPLETON   &   CO. 


"GOOD-BYE,  SWEETHEART!' 


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"  Good-bye,  Sweetheart !  "  is  certainly  one  of  the  brightest  and  most 
entertaining  novels  that  has  appeared  for  many  years.  The  heroine  of  the 
story,  Lenore,  is  really  an  original  character,  drawn  only  as  a  woman 
could  draw  her,  who  had  looked  deeply  into  the  mysterious  recesses  of 
the  feininine  heart.  She  is  a  creation  totally  beyond  the  scope  of  a  man's 
pen,  unless  it  were  the  pen  of  Shakespeare.  Her  beauty,  her  wilfulness, 
her  caprice,  her  love,  and  her  sorrow,  are  depicted  with  marvellous  skill, 
and  invested  with  an  interest  of  which  the  reader  never  becomes  weary. 
Miss  Broughton,  in  this  work,  has  made  an  immense  advance  on  her  other 
stories,  clever  as  those  are.  Her  sketches  of  scenery  and  of  interiors, 
though  brief,  are  eminently  graphic,  and  the  dialogue  is  always  sparkling 
and  witty.  The  incidents,  though  sometimes  startling  and  unexpected, 
are  very  natural,  and  the  characters  and  story,  from  Ihe  beginning  to  the 
end,  strongly  enchain  the  attention  of  the  reader.  The  -work  has  been 
warmly  commended  by  the  press  during  its  publication,  as  a  serial,  in 
Appletons'  Journal,  and,  in  its  book-form,  bids  fair  to  be  decidedly  thb 
novel  of  the  season. 


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